The Remnant
by TheGoldenHum
Summary: Two young men come through the stargate from an alternate reality claiming to want to help defeat an enemy that hasn't attacked, yet. What do they really want? Who are they, really? (This is a COMPLETE re-write of my old story "Good New For People Who Love Bad News")
1. Chapter 1

One

Daniel Jackson hung his head in an irritated defeat. He should have known that there was no way in which he could possibly avoid the innuendo that had been perched upon her lips, ready to strike at the first possible utterance - an utterance for which he could form no retort.

Damn her.

"You walked right into that one, Jackson," Mitchell smirked from across the table.

Before the subject could be changed, the base alarms buzzed obnoxiously, alerting anyone unfortunate enough to be in earshot, to the unscheduled off-world activation of the stargate. Without a word, the members of SG-1 quickly made their way from the briefing room to the control room, eager to investigate the situation.

"Who is it, Walter?" the general asked upon joining his subordinates.

"Uh..." came the confused response. "It's Colonel O'Neill's IDC, Sir..."

"As in _General_ O'Neill?" Vala asked.

"Sir," Mitchell interjected, "shouldn't we open the iris before whoever's on the other end becomes Spam?"

The general shot a look of approval to the sergeant. Walter, without a word, obeyed.

A blanket of stupefying silence wrapped itself around the room when the iris opened, unveiling a red event horizon.

"Well, I thought walking through water was fun, but I really think punch will stain my uniform," Vala quipped, causing more disapproving glares to be shot in her direction from around the room. She shrugged it off. "I thought it was funny."

The very few seconds that passed felt like several minutes before two young men barreled through the stargate; one facing them, the other ready to shoot anyone who dared to follow. When the two gates disconnected, the hooded young man relaxed his weapon, pulled the hood from his head, and turned around, clutching his abdomen.

"Hi-oh!" he said, instinctively readying his weapon per the greeting of the defense team.

"Drop your weapons!"

"If I do that, it's going to discharge, and I'll be shot for listening to you," he replied with a familiar, irreverent sarcasm. "Thus, I'm going to have to decline."

"Must you antagonize them?" the other young man said with slight irritation present in his voice.

"You know I can't help myself."

"You could at least _try_ to help yourself."

"I _do_ try! I can't help it that my mouth works faster than my brain does."

"I said, 'lower your weapons'," demanded the impatient SF.

"Correction: You said for us to drop them." He paused before adding, "You were also quite rude about it."

The members of SG-1 exchanged annoyed glances from overhead.

"May I?" Daniel asked. The general nodded and Daniel leaned into the microphone. "Who are you?"

"We're the good guys."

"Then, put down your weapons," Mitchell chimed in, causing Daniel to cover the mic with his hand.

"You first," continued the irreverent young man.

"How do we know we can trust you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Did I _not_ just say that we're the good guys?" He winced in pain, trying poorly to hide it.

"Are you okay?" his friend asked, barely loud enough for Daniel to hear. He nodded, simultaneously with Vala's hijacking of the mic.

"Prove it," she said. Her comment received glares from the men around her; however, it merited a grin from their obnoxious guest.

"Touché." He bent over to set the weapon on the ramp but collapsed instead.

"Chuck!" His friend said and instinctively slid down to him, attempting to keep him awake until the medical team that had been summoned would arrive.

"I need to talk to Colonel O'Neill," he managed to get out just above a whisper as he was lifted onto the gurney. "I need to..."

"Hang on, Kid; you're gonna be okay," the medic said, cutting him off.

* * *

SG-1 sat silently as the doctor gave her report on their visitor's condition.

"He's stable," Dr. Lam continued. "The wound was deep, but we managed to isolate the bleeding. He's lucky to be alive."

"Do you know what happened?" Vala asked.

"He was definitely shot, but not with any kind of bullet I've seen," she replied, passing around a photograph. "Whatever happened, he put up a fight. The bullet perforated his kidney."

"What about the other one?" The general asked.

"He says his name is Justin MacKenna. Malnourishment aside, he was physically okay. I had to give him a few stitches, but he had nothing more than minor bumps and bruises," she replied. She stopped, debating on how to say the rest.

"Doctor?"

"His friend asked to talk to General O'Neill when the medical team got to him. He was quite insistent."

"Why would he want to talk to Jack?" Daniel asked.

"That's for you to find out, Doctor," the general said. "You and Colonel Mitchell question Mr. MacKenna. See what you can find out. We'll meet back here at 15:00 hours. Dismissed."

* * *

Justin let out a sigh. The bed, although far from any kind of quality, was nice. It had been so long since he had been able to simply lie on a bed without fearing for his life or the lives of those around him.

He jumped when the door opened, ready to strike.

"Easy tiger," Mitchell said.

"Sorry," he said quietly as he let out a relieved breath. "Force of habit."

"It's okay," he replied. There was a moment of awkward silence. "We're here to ask you some questions."

He looked down before replying. "I can't tell you everything… Not yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you wait until Chuck talks to you?"

"Chuck?" Daniel asked. Justin rolled his eyes. "The guy who came with me. His name is Chuck."

"And, who are you?" Mitchell said.

"My name is Justin MacKenna. I already told that to everyone else who's talked to me. You guys should probably send out a memo. It'd be helpful and less frustrating for me."

The two older men exchanged an indiscernible look, but he continued anyway.

"Look, when Chuck wakes up, he'll tell you everything you want to know." He paused. "Well, probably. For now, all I can tell you is that my name is Justin, Chuck's my best friend, and we're the good guys."

"How do we know you're the good guys?" Mitchell said in a slightly demanding tone.

"Do I look stupid to you?" he said in an equally challenging tone. "I've been through all kinds of shit that you can't possibly imagine in the last five years. My best friend is at _your_ mercy. Now, we're here to help. You can accept that or we can leave."

"You can't leave," Daniel pointed out. Justin glared at him. "I'm just saying…"

"I get it, you guys have questions. I can't answer them for you."

"Chuck asked to talk to Jack O'Neill. Can you at least tell us why?"

Justin smirked. "Actually, he asked to talk to Jack's _wife_, Sam and, no, I can't."

"Wife?" Daniel repeated blankly. Justin merely nodded.

"Yeah. Where we're from, they were married; even had a kid."

"Speaking of Sam -," Mitchell began only to be cut off by Justin.

"Don't even ask; I'm not going to tell you." He let out an annoyed sigh. "Look, read my lips carefully: only Chuck can answer your questions."

"Why?" Mitchell asked.

"This was his idea."

"What was his idea?"

"Coming here; helping you. I told him that it was a bad idea, but he wouldn't hear it. He kept saying that it was better than dying. I couldn't really argue with that."

"'Better than dying'? What do you mean?" Daniel asked.

"Where we're from, we were in a war with some pretty bad aliens. We lost." He took a breath before continuing. "Everyone died, except for a handful of us. Then, most of the handful died until it was just the two of us."

"So, you're looking for reinforcements?" Mitchell clarified.

"No. Besides, Chuck would never ask that of you." He shrugged. "There's no point, anyway; we're the only survivors."

"How do you know?"

His face grew somber. "We know."

There were several moments of silence while the older men thought of more questions. None surfaced for a disturbing amount of time before Mitchell finally said, "So, if you're the only survivors and you're not after reinforcements…"

"Why are we here?"

"Yeah."

"To help."

He held Mitchell's gaze for a moment. This wasn't going to end well. He just knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

He slowly opened his eyes. The bright lights hurt. The beeping from the heart monitor didn't help his pounding head, either. As he grew more conscious, he realized that the rest of his body was in pain, causing him to groan.

"Call General Landry. Inform him that he's awake," a woman's voice said. She quickly came to his aide. "You're lucky."

"I don't believe in luck," he croaked. "H2O?" She helped him sip some water.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Chuck."

"Last name?"

"Irrelevant." He sipped some more water. "I'm from an alternate reality."

She stared at him blankly for several seconds. He stared in return. It wasn't long before the General and another man, whom he didn't recognize, joined him in the infirmary.

"You're a lucky kid," the man he presumed to be the general said.

"A man makes his own luck."

"Then, you made a bad call," the other man said. Chuck smirked.

"Who're you?"

"Colonel Cameron Mitchell."

"Chuck," he introduced himself. "Before you ask, don't worry, I'm not a bad guy. I'm from an alternate reality in which everything was destroyed. I'm here to stop the same thing from happening to you guys."

"You're what, eighteen?"

"Twenty-seven. I age well and have great hair." He rolled his eyes. "Can I speak with someone I know?"

"You just said you're from an alternate reality," the General said. "You don't know any of us."

"Fair. Counterpoint: I do, in fact, know some of you. You just don't know me." He winced. "Can I get some pain killers?" A nurse added something to his IV. After a moment, a very impressed look took up residence on his face. "Wow, that's fantastic and worked amazingly fast."

"Morphine," she replied before walking away.

"Remind me to thank the kind doctor who prescribed this miracle drug."

"Back to the point," Mitchell said.

"Calm down, fly boy. I don't even remember what the point was."

"You know us."

"Right! Sam O'Neill. I'll talk to her."

"There is no Sam O'Neill here."

Chuck thought for a moment.

"Carter, then. Her name would be Carter. Sam Carter. She should be a Colonel, possibly a Major. She definitely has the letters and punctuation D-R-period in front of her name."

"She's not available," the general said.

"Fine," he replied, rapidly growing impatient. "Daniel Jackson. Teal'c. General Hammond. General Hammond! I'd like to talk to him."

"He's dead," Mitchell said, impassively.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a real asshole?" He retorted. "He's a good man. I'd kick your ass if I wasn't hooked up to all these tubes and…whatnot."

"I've heard that a time or two."

Chuck opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by his doctor.

"Colonel," she said warningly. "Do _not_ cause him stress. Am I clear?"

"I'm laying right here!" He said. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not in the room!"

"That's it," she said. "Everyone out."

"I want to see Mac."

"Who?"

"The dude that came here with me."

"Justin?"

"Are you being intentionally thick?" He retorted.

Mitchell looked to the general. "I'll come back later."

"Take your time!" Chuck called after him. "This morphine really is great," he said. The general rolled his eyes and walked away. "Yeah…"

* * *

Daniel looked around the briefing table. The obvious question hadn't been asked nor had it been answered, really.

"So, what do we know?" he blurted from amidst his thoughts.

"Justin was more than willing to cooperate with us, " Mitchell replied. "Something tells me that Chuck is hiding something."

"He _told_ us that he was hiding a lot of things," Daniel retorted.

"He's cocky," Mitchell said. "He's gonna be a problem, Sir."

"I can get him to talk," Vala said. The men in the room frowned in her direction. "Well, I can."

"How?" Daniel challenged.

"You have to play his way," she shrugged. "We saw that in the gate room." They thought for a moment. She rolled her eyes. "Trust me. I can get him to talk."

The general pondered it for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Ms. Mal Doran, we'll try it your way. Dr. Jackson, Colonel Mitchell, go with her. I want to know everything about these guests."

Three separate, "yes, Sirs" followed his orders.

"Dismissed."

* * *

Chuck looked up from his book and smiled.

"To be honest," he began, "I didn't think they'd let me talk to you guys. Where's Sam?"

"Washington," Vala blurted. Daniel frowned. "I mean, who?"

Chuck snorted in amusement. "Good job."

"You wanted to talk to _us_?" Daniel asked. "Why us?"

"Where I'm from, we were close." His jaw clenched. "Sorry," he said. "So, what do you want to know?"

"Who are you?" Vala blurted.

"Tell you what," he said. "I'll tell you everything you want to know under three conditions." He held up one finger. "I want Yoo-Hoo. Lots of it." He held up another finger. "I want Chinese food – I'll get you my order once you've agreed to my terms." He held up three fingers. "I want my back pack and everything that was in it. Provided, you haven't tried to hack into my computer and/or screwed up anything."

"What makes you think you're in any position to make demands?" Mitchell asked from the doorway.

"You want information. I'm thirsty, hungry, and bored." He let out a breath. "Those are my terms. Take it or leave it."

Mitchell thought a moment. "I'll go talk to the general."

When he was clearly out of sight and earshot, Chuck grinned. "I thought he'd never leave." Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that look."

"You wanted him to leave, didn't you?" Vala deduced.

"Ding, ding, ding!"

"Why?" Daniel frowned.

"He's cramping my style," he replied. "Now, what do you want to know?"

"Who are you?" Vala asked.

"Who are any of us, in the grand scheme of things?" They stared blankly. "I joke. My name is Chuck. I'm from an alternate reality. I'm here to make sure what happened to us, doesn't happen to you."

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked.

"That'll require the Chinese food," he retorted. "But, I will say that some pretty bad dudes are headed here and they killed everyone; everyone I have ever cared about: dead." He paused. "Except, Mac."

"Why help us?" Vala asked, her eyes narrowed and skeptical.

For a moment, his face grew more serious than it had been since he'd stepped foot through the Stargate.

"They hop realities. I don't know why. I can't figure out why they're all 'Kill John Connor' on us, but they are. They're after someone and they're wiping out all of us, in every reality, to stop whoever can stop them."

"You asked to talk to Sam. Why?"

"It's a long story, but gist of it is that we were working on a project – some weapons that might help us, I don't know, beat them. We got a tip from some pretty cool dudes out in the universe. It worked for a while, but they started to adapt. They've figured out a way to defend themselves against it."

"You want her to help you."

"No, I want help her. I have all of our research with me. I want her to look over it and I want to take it from there."

"Why are you so eager to help us?" Daniel asked, impatience present in his voice.

"Look, if you don't want my help, fine," Chuck snapped. "Patch me up and send me on my merry way."

"Alright," Mitchell said, entering the room. "You have a deal."

"Good," Chuck replied. "I would like a large order of Crab Rangoon, a massive order of almond chicken, some egg drop soup, make sure they give me those little crunchy noodles and large Coke – no ice and don't skimp out on the fortune cookie."

Daniel blinked in surprise at how he could go from doom and gloom in one second to perkily ordering his lunch in the next.

Mitchell nearly shoved the backpack into Chuck's arms. "Now, who are you?"

Chuck grinned. "Food first. Talk later." He pulled out a PSP and started playing it.

The three exchanged glances.

"Are you kidding me?" Daniel demanded. "After all of that, all you wanted was a Game Boy?"

"It's a PSP," He corrected him. "I mentioned that I was bored, anyway." He shrugged.

Mitchell turned to Vala and said quietly, "You better be right."

"Just let me talk to him," she insisted.

The men exchanged glances before silently leaving the room.

"So, really, who are you?" She asked, her eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something."

"I do believe that I have before mentioned that I'm hiding a lot of things," he shrugged. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you?"

"Because you and I are a lot alike, I think. You just need to trust the right people."

"You don't trust anyone," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Except, yet at the same time, least of all Daniel Jackson."

She tensed. He grinned.

"That's exactly what I thought," He replied, setting his PSP to the side. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. I'll add it to the list of things I'm hiding."

She frowned. He laughed and then winced in pain. He let out a breath.

"Look, where I'm from, I watched all of you die, one by one. I'm not anxious to see that happen again. I know you guys don't know me. Technically, I may not know you, either; but, I lost you and here you are alive and well with a bad guy coming to take you out and I don't know when. I can't be responsible for that…again."

"Again?"

"It's complicated."

She nodded and opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it.

"Yes, I just blurted all of that, but I need you to understand. I'm only going to tell you guys what you _need_ to know, not everything you _want_ to know. I'm trying to protect you; this planet; this reality. I'm like Arnold in T2 and you guys are John Connor."

"I don't know what that means," she confessed after a moment.

"That's disappointing." After a second, he said, "You really haven't seen _Terminator 2_?"

"I haven't seen _Terminator 1_," she said.

"Aw, hell naw!" he said, clearly shocked. "We have to remedy that." He started sniffing obnoxiously.

"What?" She asked, slightly confused.

"I smell my Chinese food."

"Seriously?" She replied, not entirely sure how to process that statement.

"The Super Sniffer doesn't ever lie."

It wasn't more than a minute later when Mitchell entered the room with his food. He grinned widely.

"Thank God!" he said. "I'm starving. I'm also in a lot of pain. I could use some more of that morphine."


	3. Chapter 3

Three

Three days had passed since Chuck had awakened. Three long and miserable days, Daniel often told himself. Part of him wished they'd put him in a medically induced coma. He shook the semi-pleasant thought from his mind.

There was something off about this guy, something that none of them could put their finger on and it drove them all nuts.

He was witty, they had to give him that. He was irreverent. He was a royal pain in the ass. He was smart. He'd been somewhat cooperative, but mostly when he was mocking them or making an obscure movie reference.

He was pulled from his thoughts starkly.

"What? No! You can't just -. Because you have to watch the first movie _first_!" He heard Chuck's voice down the hall.

"You referenced the second one!" It had taken him a moment to realize that Vala was arguing with him.

"Yes, but you can't just watch T2 without having seen the first movie! It won't make any sense to you!"

"Your reference doesn't make any sense to me, anyway!"

"I used it three days ago!"

"What is going on?" Daniel asked in nothing more than utter confusion.

"She's trying to watch _Terminator 2_ before watching _The Terminator_."

"So?" Chuck shook his head in disbelief. "What?"

He turned to Vala. "You missed the briefing."

"What, uh, what briefing?" Chuck asked. Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Oh, come on! I'm stuck in bed. I have a catheter. I need something," he paused. "Including, but not limited to, more Yoo-Hoo." Daniel rolled his eyes. "I'm serious, bro! With any luck, I get to start therapy tomorrow."

"You don't get to start therapy tomorrow," Dr. Lam interjected, handing him some pills.

"I'm fine."

"You can hardly sit up without Vicodin."

"If you gave me morphine," he countered, "I could start therapy right now. I could get out of this bed. I could stop driving you crazy, slowly and intentionally." He faced Daniel. "Pineapple shake."

"What?" he said.

"When you go pick up Sam later, would you please grab me a pineapple shake? A huge one."

"How do you know…?" He trailed off and shot Vala a look.

"I didn't tell him!" She said defensively.

"I'm psychic."

"You're not psychic," another voice said.

"Mac!" He said with genuine enthusiasm. "My brother from another mother! I was wondering about you. I haven't seen you since, well, that day we came here. I was worried about you." He paused. "Serious moment: can one watch T2 without having seen the first one?"

"Why would you ask something so stupid?"

"Just give me an answer."

"No."

"Wait, 'no' like you're not going to answer or 'no' as in one can't watch T2 without watching the former?"

"No as in 'why the hell would someone _want_ to watch T2 without watching the first one?'"

"Exactly," he said, shooting a look to Vala who, in turn, merely rolled her eyes. "I could also go for a ginormous cheeseburger, a pulled pork sandwich, and maybe some chocolate."

"Cheese," Mac sighed.

"Cheese!" he exclaimed. "I could go for nachos, too!"

"Cheese?" Daniel asked, not quite sure if he wanted to know.

Chuck smiled widely and pointed back and forth between himself and his friend. "Mac and Cheese." It was his only explanation.

"Okay, then," Daniel said, feeling no obligation to dignify it with a response. "Vala, let's go."

"Later," Chuck said. "Later, we _will_ watch those movies." They didn't respond. "Hurry back! Drive safe! Don't forget my food!" He let out a breath. Mac shook his head. "What?"

"They're going to kill us if you keep being… well, you."

"Words hurt, bro." He paused. "Actually, I think it's coming from my incisions."

Mac let out a sigh and sat in the chair by his friend's bed. "They're bringing in Sam, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"How'd you know?"

"I'm psych-. Never mind. That Mitchell dude and Daniel were talking about it earlier when I was pretending to be asleep so I could hear what they were saying."

"And?"

"Then, I actually fell asleep," he frowned. "It was a lovely nap, though. Now, I'm starving and I desperately want a couple of pulled pork sandwiches."

Mac let out a sigh. "Dude…"

"We're here to a job," Chuck said. "I haven't forgotten that."

"You think they'll help us?"

"If they don't, all of us are going to die," he replied matter-of-factly. "I don't really see how they have a choice."

* * *

"Wait," Sam said in near disbelief. "A _red_ wormhole?" She shook her head. "That's impossible."

"Actually," Daniel said. "She's not lying."

"I made a joke about it and everything," Vala continued. "Anyway, these two kids came through the gate asking to talk to you."

"Me?"

"They were using your IDC, too," Daniel replied.

"What?"

"They're from an alternate reality," Vala explained. "One's name is Chuck. He's in the infirmary still. His friend is Mac. I haven't really talked to him very much because he's been in a holding cell."

Sam shot a confused look to Daniel, begging him to bring some clarity to what she was currently being prompted to buy into.

"It's a long story," was all he could offer.

* * *

She entered the briefing room with her friends. It had been some time since she had been in the complex. Although, she had a feeling she'd be here a lot more in the coming days seeing as this kid was asking for her by name.

"Colonel Carter," the general greeted as if he'd been awaiting her arrival as well.

"General," she greeted in return.

"Welcome back to Stargate Command."

"Thank you, Sir. It's good to be back."

"The gang's all here," a familiar voice said from behind her. She turned around to see Cameron Mitchell with an obnoxious grin on his face. She smiled in return. "Hey, Cam."

"Shall we begin?" The general asked, wasting no time.

"What's this I hear about a couple of kids coming through a red wormhole?" She asked.

The general snorted in amusement. "That's only the half of it."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Nearly a week ago, two young men came through my stargate with your IDC," he began. "They claimed to be friendlies from an alternate reality."

"They said they're here to help us prevent some impending doom," Mitchell said, almost mockingly.

"What doom?" she asked.

"They won't say," the general continued. "One of them was badly hurt and underwent several surgeries. He finally woke up about three days ago. He's been…less than cooperative."

"His buddy, on the other hand," Mitchell began, "has been as helpful as he supposedly can be."

"What does that mean?"

"He will only give us information that he thinks his friend, Chuck, thinks is a good idea for us to know."

"His name is Justin MacKenna, by the way," Daniel added.

"He goes by Mac," Vala interjected.

"Chuck is only willing to cooperate with you," Mitchell said, bringing them back on point.

"Why me?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," the general handed her a photo from the folder in front of him. "Do you recognize him?"

She studied the picture carefully, unable to place the young man.

"No," she replied, handing the picture back. He handed her a second picture.

"What about this one?"

She shook her head. "I don't know him, either."

"Well, they claim to know you," Mitchell said. "Actually, they claimed to know all of us."

"Except you," Vala retorted. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," he replied

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, confusedly. "I'm not really sure what you want me to do."

"I want you to talk to them. They claim to know you. Use that to our advantage. See what information you can get out of them," he said sternly. "I want to know everything about these kids."

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"I don't doubt that, Colonel. Dismissed."

* * *

Sam made her way to the infirmary to talk to this Chuck. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to say to him. She'd been back in Colorado for less than a day.

She took a deep breath and entered the infirmary. A nurse came quickly to greet her.

"I'm looking for Chuck," she said quietly.

"This way, Colonel," the nurse said. "He's had some pain killers so, he may be in and out of it."

"Thank you," she replied. She was half-surprised to see him going to town on a handheld gaming console.

"Oh, come on!" he said in a tone that reminded her slightly of Jack. He looked up, clearly surprised to see her. "Sam!" he said, wincing in what was very clearly an intense pain as he tried to sit up straight.

"Do I know you?"

He thought for a moment. "No, actually… Now that I think about it," he replied awkwardly. "But, I do know you."

She looked around awkwardly, not quite sure what to do next. It had been some time since she'd talked to a "guest" in the infirmary, much less someone so… familiar.

"I was told that you wouldn't cooperate with anyone, but me."

"Really? That's the first thing you say to me?" His tone was one of slight disappointment, but he shrugged it off and continued. "Anyway, that's not even slightly true. I said I wouldn't hand over my notes to anyone but you."

"Why me?"

"Several factors, really: Dr. Lee? Idiot. McKay? Asshole. Plus, we're family and this was _our_ project." He let out a breath. "Besides, you're the only one capable of handling notes of such magnitude."

"What magnitude?"

"Epic," he whispered, gesturing obnoxiously. "Seriously, this stuff: game changer."

"What's the project?"

"Research, actually."

"Okay, what's the research?" She had to admit her interest was piqued.

"Backpack, please," he said. She handed him the bag and he pulled out a composition notebook. "Prepare your mind to be blown," he said, handing the composition book to her. He waited silently and patiently as she glanced over it.

"What am I looking at?"

"Seriously?" It was a tone of disbelief mixed with slight disappointment.

She looked up, slightly confused by his response. "Yes."

"The bad guys – whom, I have dubbed zombies, long story – they hop realities. We were trying to figure out how they do it so that we can stop them."

"They hop realities? What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? What's it sound like?" he retorted. "They hop realities: one reality to another on a whim. They're little bunny Fufu and we're the field mice. We were trying to figure out how to them into a goon."

She stared at him in what he could only assume was confusion and disbelief. He'd seen that look several times. He rolled his eyes.

"We're trying to figure out how to stop them."

"And?" she asked, sensing that there was more to his explanation.

"And, I'm here, so clearly I ran out of time before they killed everyone; myself and Mac, excluded. We did, however, manage to sort of figure _something _out." He paused, sipped his Yoo-Hoo and continued, "I managed to get us here, but through the gate and the use of a solar flare."

"How?"

"Page forty-three; the math, along with some side notes, is all there." He sighed. "What I can't figure out is how they're doing it without gates, wormholes. It doesn't make sense."

She continued to intently browse through the notes. They were incredible to say the very least.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," a nurse said, "but, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. Dr. Lam has given specific instructions on visiting privileges for him."

"Okay," she replied.

"Feel free to take those with you, but don't get anything on them, don't change anything, don't add to them. Just look." She looked confusedly to him in response. "I haven't had a chance to finalize some of the calculations, yet. You know, on account of being in here." She stood up to leave. "One more thing," he said, stopping her in her tracks. "I want in on this."

"What?"

"I. Want in. On this," he said slowly.

"Are you kidding?"

"I never kid." She stared blankly. "I'm kidding. Seriously, though, I want in on this or I want my notes back and we'll go somewhere else. Besides, there are missing pieces that are stored up here," he said, tapping his head with his finger, "in my noggin."

"I'll see what I can do," she said.

"Good."

* * *

Mac let out a sigh as they escorted him into the briefing room. It was the first time in quite awhile that they'd let him out of his holding cell beyond being able to go see his best friend. He had a feeling it had something to do with something Chuck had said and he was going to have to clarify… or, beg for them not to be publicly executed.

He entered the briefing room. SG-1 was already sitting around the table. They were clearly waiting on his arrival as well as the currently absent general.

"Have a seat," Mitchell said. He nodded and sat at the far end of the table.

"It's good to see you," he said to Sam.

"Thanks?" she said confusedly.

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'm Justin MacKenna. You can call me Mac."

"Sorry, I'm late," the General announced, exiting his office and joining his subordinates. "Mr. MacKenna, thank you for joining us."

"Thank you for letting me out of my cell," he replied. "What can I do for you?"

"Colonel?" The general said, prompting Sam to begin the briefing.

"Your friend, Chuck, gave me these notes," she said, passing the notebook to him. "He didn't tell me much about them. What can you tell me?"

He let out a breath. "Unfortunately, nothing. I'm not a scientist. I was a cop. This is all him."

"He was a scientist where you're from?"

"Of sorts," he replied. "He wasn't at first, but then the bad guys came and he suddenly knew a hell of a lot more than anyone thought he did."

"What do you mean?" Mitchell asked.

"Well, he dropped out of college and that math is far beyond doctoral physics," he retorted. "He helped his dad out on a stargate-related case slash mission. When he got back to Albuquerque, he was totally different. He started carrying a notebook and writing down equations out of nowhere and he would, I don't know, he would zone out for long periods of time." He sighed. "I honestly have no clue what snapped in his brain, but something did. He became obsessed." He paused. They could see him working out how he wanted to say what was about to come next.

"Go ahead," Sam prompted.

"About three, almost four, years later, the bad guys showed up and starting taking us out. We managed to hide for quite awhile, here at the base, but eventually they found us. We moved to my apartment where we were safe for awhile, but Chuck needed to get back on base to test," he looked at Sam, "your theory. Now, here we are."

"You're a cop," Daniel said.

"That's _all_ you got from that?" he replied, in a very Chuck-like tone. "Yes, I'm a cop – detective, actually. I majored in criminology at the University of New Mexico." He sighed. "Look, we're not here to cause problems. We have reason to believe that this is where the bad guys are headed next. Our goal is to stop them before they can do to you – or anyone else, for that matter – what they did to us."

The other adults exchanged several looks in what seemed like a silent conversation, making Mac feel more uncomfortable than he had since they first arrived.

"Look," he said, breaking the silence. "I know Chuck is a little…" he paused for a moment, trying to think of the right adjective. "Well, he's Chuck. His heart is in the right place. Yes, he can be tough to deal with, but he'd never let anything happen to you guys, if he can help it. All we're asking for is a chance to start over, here, helping you guys fight a bad guy you had no idea was coming until we got here. We don't know how much time we've got to figure this out before they show up. I know we're an inconvenience, but we really do just want to help."

"Thank you, Mr. MacKenna," the general said. "I'll take that under advisement." He turned to the members of SG-1. "I have to make an important call to the president. Dismissed."


	4. Chapter 4

Four

"So, what do you think of Mac and Chuck?" Sam asked, changing the subject, as she took a bite of her dessert.

"I like them," Vala answered. Daniel rolled his eyes. "What?"

"Mac, I like," Mitchell interjected. "Chuck… I don't know. For a twenty-seven year old man, he's like a little kid."

"Maybe, he's just stir-crazy," Daniel offered.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying: he's been lying in a hospital bed for, what, two weeks?" He shrugged. "You can't tell me you'd be any better off."

"I can tell you that I wouldn't be acting like a five year old."

"Have you been able to gain any information from the notes Chuck provided?" Teal'c asked.

Sam shook her head. "It's pretty impressive, but I think he's holding back some pieces."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Mitchell muttered. "He's good at that."

"Dr. Lam is allowing him to spend an hour in my lab after the briefing this afternoon," she continued. "I'm hoping that if I can work with him one-on-one, I may actually learn something."

"Well, good luck with that."

Vala rolled her eyes. "I like him. I think he can help us – he wants to help us."

"We still don't know if they're telling the truth!" Mitchell said unscrupulously. "We have their word alone. They _want_ to help us, but they haven't actually done anything."

"That's because we're stuck in the dark, dismal underground in a hospital bed or in a holding cell. Would you want to cooperate under such conditions?"

They turned around to see Chuck being wheeled in to the commissary by Mac.

"Besides," Chuck continued. "We're several steps ahead of you and not waiting for you to catch up. It's like we're Sandra Bullock and you're Keanu Reeves. You want us, but there's a two-year time gap that we've somehow managed to fall right into and, also, our story is quite underrated. " They stared at him and he added, "I'm just saying, don't be Christopher Plummer's character in the movie."

"I don't even know what movie that is."

"_The Lake House_."

"I thought you were meeting me in my lab at two," Sam said, changing the subject.

"I am," he said. "The general refused to order out for me today, so I'm roughing it in the cafeteria. What's on the menu, by the way? Please tell me it's jerk chicken."

"Not jerk chicken," Mitchell said. "It's meatloaf."

He groaned. "Man, at this rate, I'm gonna die of hunger long before the bad guys get here. Mac, we gotta order a pizza."

"With what?" he retorted.

"I won some cash from an online poker game."

"You what?"

"I'm kidding. I made a bet with one of the SFs. He lost. We have fifty bucks. Dammit, I want pizza and beer."

"You can't have beer. Your kidney is healing," Mac retorted.

"My _liver _is just fine, thank you."

"Fine, we'll order pizza. _No beer_."

"Mountain Dew, then."

"I'm gonna go find a phone," he sighed in annoyance and walked away.

"So, what's the subject of conversation?"

"Your notes, actually," Sam said.

"Oh, yeah," he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. "I've prepared a bunch of stuff for later for my briefing later. Right now, I'm on lunch."

"What briefing?"

"The briefing we have in an hour and a half."

"_You're_ giving the briefing?" Mitchell asked skeptically.

"Yes, Ranger Redundant, I do believe I just said that."

Mitchell rolled his eyes. He was going to wind up killing this kid before he had a chance to fully heal.

"Pizza will be here in an hour. Someone will have to meet them outside, though. Obviously."

"Man," Chuck replied, his voice rising a couple of octaves in the process. "I can't wait that long." He let out a breathy sigh. "I guess I'll just have to eat some pie for now." He looked up at Mac. "Pineapple?"

"What do you take me for?"

"Certainly not an English teacher."

Mac frowned. Chuck shrugged.

"There is no pineapple pie," Teal'c said, not quite understanding what just happened.

"Oh, my stoic friend," Chuck said. "Pineapple belongs on the pizza." He noticed the faces they made in response. "It's Hawaiian pizza and it's delicious."

* * *

Sam entered the briefing room quietly. Chuck was already in there, poring intently over a file at the briefing room table. It was odd to see him serious and focused. For the week she'd known him, she'd deduced that he was somewhat of a clown. He frequently joked about anything and everything. His use of movie references was both impressive and somewhat annoying. It was almost disconcerting to see him so serious.

"You're early," he said without moving his gaze.

"Yeah," she replied awkwardly.

He shut the folder. "Sit." She sat down quietly. There were several moments of silence before she finally ended it.

"Are you okay?"

He leaned back in his wheelchair and let out a sigh.

"That's kind of a loaded question," he replied honestly. "Where I'm from, you're all dead: you, Jack, Danny, Daniel, Vala, Zak, Teal'c, my Mom, my stepdad, my other siblings…" he trailed off. "Here you all are, alive and well." He sipped his Yoo-Hoo. "I went to another reality before this one, but we were too late. We spent about six months there. It was all of us again. Then, you all died… again and, once more, it was Mac and I. Honestly, I'm trying really hard to make sure that doesn't happen again. I have to stop them. Here; now. I will."

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked, her eyes narrowed. The sincerity in his eyes was intense.

"I want you to understand: I'm not here to cause problems. I'm here for one reason: to win. I've told Vala things, too. I just need you guys to get it."

"The other day," she began, after a moment. "You said we were family."

"We were."

"What do you mean?"

He swallowed. Before he had the opportunity to explain, the remaining members of SG-1, along with Mac, entered the briefing room and began to take their places around the table.

"You ready for this?" Mac said quietly to his friend.

"I've given briefings before," he replied. "I'll be fine."

Mac nodded and took the seat directly beside his friend. They waited in an awkward silence for General Landry to join them.

"Okay," Chuck began. "Welcome to Chuck and Mac 101. In this briefing, I'm going to throw a ton of information at you." He handed a stack of files to Mac. "You don't need one, but I made one for you in case you wanted it," he said. "Everyone take a file. You'll want it and it will ensure that I'm not repeating myself a hundred times."

"You'd think he's done this before," Mitchell murmured to Daniel.

"Got something to say?" Chuck said authoritatively. It took them all by surprise. "Didn't think so." He turned to the MacBook before him and opened it, not waiting for it to boot up. "You already know we're from an alternate reality. I feel like I've said it a million times: where we're from, you're all dead. Again, that's information that you already know. I'm going to give the pertinent information from the very beginning to help you better understand." He paused just long enough to get his computer set up for what they could only assume was the presentation. "Airman, the lights." When the lights went off, he continued. "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was boy named..." He paused, trying to think of a name. "We'll call him Superman. Superman was busy hanging out at his local coffee shop with his buddy, Jimmy Olson, and flirting with Lois Lane at the counter. Out of nowhere, a certain person - Jor-El - whom he never thought he'd see again, approached and told about a device known as the Stargate. Superman, thinking he was full of shit, rolled his eyes and left. Several months later, he found himself on an alien ship. These aliens were known as the Furlings -."

"The Furlings?" Daniel asked; his interest obviously was piqued.

Chuck glared. "Did I not say, 'don't interrupt me while I'm telling the background story'?"

"Actually," Mac said, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. "No, you didn't."

"I didn't?" Mac shook his head in response. "Huh. My apologies. Don't interrupt me while I'm telling the background story."

Daniel frowned.

Chuck continued, "These Furlings, being the pompous douche bags they were, downloaded all of their knowledge into his head." He paused and added bitterly, "Instead of putting it all on a crystal like normal aliens." He rolled his eyes in irritation, realized what was happening, and continued with his briefing. "What they failed to mention, when they did this against his will, was that they were in a war with a race known as the Ys...ys...ys… um, something." He stopped, realizing that he still couldn't pronounce it. He turned to Mac.

"Yssik."

"What he said. I call them zombies."

"Why?" Vala asked.

He gritted his teeth. "How do you guys get to be the _elite_ team and have zero ability to follow directions?"

"Sorry," she muttered.

"As I was saying," he continued. "We don't know why they were fighting. Quite frankly, we don't care. Superman got the knowledge and no instruction manual to go along with it. What he didn't know was that these bad guys put a tracking device on his ship and followed him home. They wanted something that was placed in the dude's brain." He paused to sip his Yoo-Hoo.

"Do you have an addiction to that stuff?" Daniel asked.

"He does," Mac replied. "It's pathetic, really."

"You're pathetic," Chuck retorted.

"You're pathetic," Mac snapped back.

"Your face is pathetic!"

"Gentlemen!" Landry interrupted, putting an end to the argument. He turned to Chuck. "Continue."

"Where was I?" He thought for a moment.

"The bad guys wanted the knowledge in Superman's brain," Sam offered.

"Right! Thank you." He turned back to the image projected on the wall. "Several months later, our people and our allies started finding these objects," he said, pointing to an image with a laser pointer, "on a various planets. It wasn't long before each planet was obliterated."

"Obliterated?" Sam repeated.

"Ka-boom." His face was somber as he emphasized each syllable. "Literally, gone. Wiped out." He let out a heavy breath. "We don't know what the devices are or what they do. My theory is that they're a marker of sorts."

"Like, painting a target," Mitchell added.

"I don't know why someone would paint something they plan to blow up, but sure," he said. "Anyway, it wasn't long before people in the SGC started acting bat shit crazy." He paused, obviously weighing his words. "They were themselves, but not really. It's tough to explain without you actually seeing it, but it was like they shells of who they were. You could look in their eyes and see that they were gone. Not like the Goa'uld, or what I know of them, this was different. With the Goa'uld, _something_ of the host always survives, right?" He said facing Teal'c.

"Indeed."

"It wasn't like that. You looked into their eyes and they were dead. There was no life; not emotion; not a soul. Nothing. They were like…" he gestured. "Zombies. Thus, the reason for the nickname." He sipped his drink again. "Anyway, they used our people against us, our allies, our enemies, everyone. I was like Will Smith in _I Am Legend_." He faced Mac. "That makes you Sam."

"Why do I have to be the dog?"

"Because, Will Smith's best friend and only companion was his dog."

"Back to the point," Mac growled with frown.

"Anyway, when this started happening, I was brought on as more of a consultant."

"Why?" The General asked.

"To be honest, I'm not really sure. All Jack would say is that I'm good with puzzles and they needed an outside opinion. I don't know how he managed to pull it off, but he did." He sighed. "Anyway, uh, Sam and I started doing some research. We developed something that could detect these devices based on the very, very, very unique energy signature." He moved the screen to another image. "You guys also saw it in my bag, more than likely. Basically, we would input a planet's coordinates and it would detect whether or not these devices were there. I don't know what they did after they found out there were devices there – I never went off-world. Then, we started to work on some weapons -."

"What kind of weapons?" Mitchell asked.

"The bad guy stopping kind," he deadpanned. "Eventually, they stopped working. We don't know why, we don't know how. All we know is that they did." He let out a breath. "Airman." The lights came back up. "All the photos are in your files, along with some detailed reports I've written up about them." He exhaled loudly. "Questions?"

"I have so many questions I don't know where to start," Daniel confessed.

"Me, too," Sam agreed.

"You and I are going to be talking more in-depth later," Chuck replied to Sam. He faced Daniel, "You can always ask as you think of them."

"The Furlings," Daniel said, his eyes wide in anticipation.

"That's not exactly a question," he replied in obvious confusion.

"What were they like? What's the knowledge that they had?" He asked, beginning to get excited. "I mean, they're one of _the_ races."

Mac and Chuck exchanged confused looks. "What races?" Mac asked.

"The Asgard, the Ancients, the Knox, the Furlings…" he said.

They shook their heads slowly.

"We don't know about any of those races, except the Furlings," Chuck replied. "To answer your question, they were douche bags. I mean, flat out bastards. You heard what they did in the story. They sent the bad guys to us and didn't give us any warning or idea how beat them."

Everyone exchanged silent glances.

"Now, that you know things," Mac said half-awkwardly. "Can we get out of the holding cell mentality and get some legit quarters?"

"Maybe, start making a paycheck," Chuck added.

"Hold on a minute," Mitchell interjected. "You still haven't told us _why_ you're so eager to help."

The two young men exchanged looks.

"Why wouldn't we?" Mac asked. "Everything we know is gone -."

"They're going after _someone_," Chuck interrupted. "We don't know why, we don't know who. All we know for sure is that they're wiping out entire realities to get this person. We assume that he or she can stop them somehow."

"The knowledge the Furlings planted," Sam concluded.

"That's our best guess, too," he replied.

"How do you know that they're wiping out every reality?" Daniel questioned.

"That's a fair question," the general added.

"Because we've already been to two. This is our third. The patterns are repeating. I haven't detected any of those devices, yet," Chuck said. "but, that doesn't mean anything."

"How do you know they'll come here?" Vala asked. Daniel looked up, quite impressed that she'd remained silent for so long.

"It's only a matter of time," Mac explained.

"We have every reason to believe, based on some scientific studies that you, actually conducted," Chuck began, noting to Sam, "that they're coming here next. We haven't been wrong, yet. So, with some calculations, minor adjustments, and the help of one doozy of a solar flare, here we are."

Everyone exchanged silent looks, all saying the same thing: this could get ugly.


	5. Chapter 5

Five

"I'm bored," Chuck whined, announcing his presence in Sam's lab.

"You don't have to be in here," she replied. "No one's making you." She'd been trying to test the device brought back by SG-4. Reverse engineering alien technology was difficult enough, but having Chuck hanging around her lab, constantly not allowing her to work was beginning to take its toll. She let out a heavy breath when he didn't get the hint.

"I'm generalizing," he sighed, slumping in the chair beside her. He began twirling in it. "I want to go off-base."

"You can't go anywhere until Dr. Lam medically releases you." Then, she added, "You're going to make yourself sick."

"Wait," he said, stopping the spinning and directing all of his attention at her. "Are you saying that I've already been approved to leave the base once I'm fully healed?"

"No," she said. "I'm just saying that before General Landry even considers it, Dr. Lam will have to release you."

He slumped back in the chair. "This sucks."

"You can always work on your calculations," she offered.

"Why am I getting the distinct feeling that you're trying to kick me out of your lab?"

She looked up, meeting his gaze. "You _are_?"

"Well, you're not exactly helping!" She said defensively. "You've been whining for the last thirty minutes."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine!" He scoffed. "I'll go bug Landry and see if he'll sign off on that office, yet."

He carefully rose from his seat and exited the room. One more week, he kept reminding himself. One more week and he should be medically cleared. The last five weeks had been torture.

"Hey, Chuck!" A voice greeted from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Vala making her way toward him.

"Hey."

"What's wrong?" She asked. "Your kidney okay?"

"I'm still sore, but I'm fine. I'm just bored out of damned mind!" He let out a sigh. "You're stuck in here all the time, what do you do for fun?"

She thought for a moment. "Online shopping."

"That's not going to be helpful," he sighed. He stopped and shot her a look that made her eyes narrow.

"What?"

He grinned. "Follow me."

The entire trek to Mac's quarters was filled with her asking where they were going and Chuck simply telling her to trust him and that they wouldn't get in any trouble. He knocked on Mac's door.

"What's up?" He asked.

"Let's get out of here," he replied.

"Did you get us approval already?" Mac asked.

"Of course, I did. We can't be gone too long on account of my kidney, but Dr. Lam said it was okay for us to get our hair cut and grab some lunch and General Landry okayed it as long as we have someone with us."

Mac's eyes narrowed. "Who's coming with us?"

Chuck pointed behind him to Vala.

"You're full of it."

"He wasn't specific. Sam's working on some alien thing, Cam's doing paperwork, and Daniel's being Daniel. Vala was the only one willing to make the jaunt." He shrugged. "Besides, she's every bit as bored as we are."

Mac eyed him carefully before conceding.

"Did you call a cab already?"

"Psh. Of course, I did," he replied.

"I'll meet you at the top in ten minutes."

"Sweet," he said, turning around and bringing Vala along with him.

"You just lied to him."

"Yes, I did. You know where Daniel keeps his keys?" He asked with a sly grin.

"Yes?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Go get them and meet me in my quarters." She eyed him suspiciously. "I thought you said you wanted to go shopping."

"I said I do online shopping," she retorted.

"Which is better?"

"Good point."

"Get his keys. Meet me in my quarters. We'll peace out in a few minutes."

With that, they went separate ways. She had to admit, she liked this guy. Landry had called him a wild card. She wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but she knew it was fun.

* * *

"You said ten minutes," Mac glared. "Ten, Chuck. It's been thirty."

"It's been thirty-_one_," he retorted. "I had to clear some stuff up before we could leave."

Mac glanced to Vala and then back to his cohort.

"So, what's the game plan?" He asked.

"First, I'm getting a hair cut. I look like Jeremiah Johnson as a teen heartthrob," Chuck retorted. "Then, I was thinking lunch. Then, I was thinking we'd hit the mall."

"With what money?"

Chuck grinned and flashed a credit card. "It came in this morning."

"You got a credit card?"

"That I did. I was able to talk Mitchell into talking the General into signing off on it."

"How?"

"Online shopping."

"Online shop-? What?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I told him that if we were going to be staying here that I would require certain things: basketball gear, shoes, clothes, et cetera. Not to mention all the snacks and video games. I told him we could do it on the Air Force dime, or he could hire us and let us make some cash."

"And?"

"He signed off on the credit card. Spoiler alert: I think we're about to start getting paid." He paused. "Another spoiler alert: I think I also scored an office… one for each of us."

"Why do I need an office?"

"Why don't you _want_ one?" he retorted. "If we're getting paid, wouldn't you like your own work station?"

"I was a detective, Chuck; not a scientist of any kind."

"That's fair. But, what are you gonna do when we start getting a paycheck, hang out in your quarters?

"Where's the cab?" He sighed, changing the subject.

"We're not taking a cab."

"You said you called a cab."

Chuck shrugged. "I lied."

"Nope," Mac said as he turned around and started heading back into the facility.

"Where are you going?"

"Not with you!" he called over his shoulder. "No, sir. I am not going down for this. A haircut isn't worth it."

"What about lobster?"

"I'm allergic to shellfish."

"You are not!" Chuck called. "Stop being so dramatic." When Mac didn't reply, he said, "Vala has to sign you in, you know?"

Mac stopped, turned around, and said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She signed you out; she has to sign you back in." He glanced to Vala. "Either, he comes with us or you have to walk all the way back in there."

When he continued to look at her expectantly, she rolled her eyes and followed him back into the SGC.

"Child's play," Chuck said to himself as he got into Daniel's car and drove off the property.

* * *

Mac bent over the desk to sign the form.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm just not getting in trouble for this. We can't afford it."

"It's okay," she sighed. "We'll just have all the fun without you."

He snorted in amusement just prior to catching sight of his friend's handwriting. He jerked the clipboard out of the Airman's hand.

"Son of a bitch."

"What?"

"You just got duped." She stared at him in confusion. "He just got you to get him off base, get him Daniel's car, and he drove off without you."

"He wouldn't."

"He signed out as William Shatner."

"So?" He shot her a look and she realized she'd just gotten beat at one of her own, and personal favorite, games. "That little bastard."

"Tell me about it." He let out an exasperated sigh. "We have to talk to the general." He looked at her. "And, you have to talk to Daniel."

She rolled her eyes.

* * *

"He did _what_?"

It was more of a demand than it was a question. Mac studied the man in silence for a moment. He was legitimately pissed. Not that he didn't have a right to be, Chuck had broken out his facility. Chuck, whom the general didn't know, who was a wild card by every definition of the word, was running around Colorado Springs and no one knew where to find him.

"He stole Daniel's car," Vala said. "And, went… shopping." There was a hint of disdain in her voice. She couldn't believe that little bastard left without her.

"Shopping?" The general demanded. He looked over to Mac, who merely let out a sigh.

"He's been complaining about his hair, having to wear BDUs, boredom…" he gestured with his hands before continuing. "He said he was getting his hair cut, getting lunch, and going shopping. I believe him."

"Why should I believe _you_?"

"Because I'm here. I didn't leave with him – I came back in the building and I'm standing in front of you." He let out a breath. "Look, I'm trying to cooperate you with you. Chuck is freaking out for some reason; he's not usually like this." He paused. "Well, he's usually acting like a small child in some way or another but he doesn't steal cars and go shopping on a whim…usually. He'll be back."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Chuck is the kid who threatens to run away, actually leaves, but you'll find him in the garage two hours later. Give him a few hours to blow off some steam. He'll be back."

* * *

Chuck waltzed into the base, his hands full of bags and a smile on his face. He'd had a successful trip, if he did say so himself. He'd gotten a pretzel, some food, new clothes, new hair, and some video games. Most importantly, he'd gotten off the base and was able to have some fun; clear his head; breathe the fresh mountain air.

His smile slowly faded as the elevator door opened. A young woman stared back at him. Slowly, she smiled awkwardly.

"Uh," he said. "Rachel, right?"

She stared at him as if trying to place him.

"Yeah," she replied. "Do I know you?"

He thought for a moment. "I, um, I made your coffee at, uh, UNM."

She smiled. "You went to UNM? I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

He nodded awkwardly. "Why would you?" He chuckled nervously. "I made coffee for a semester before I left after sophomore year."

"You transferred?"

"Ish." He grinned. "I found my calling."

"Here?"

"Ish." He said.

"Classified, right," she said.

"Classified," he nodded. "You?"

"Yes," she replied. "I'm working as a psychologist."

"You're a shrink?"

"Ish."

He laughed. "Well, _doc_," he said with a nod. "I have some stuff to do, but we should do lunch. I'll look you up on the base directory, call your office."

The elevator doors closed between them before he realized that he'd even set foot in it. He slumped the floor, back the wall and let out a heavy breath. His throat was dry. He was finding it difficult to breathe.

The elevator opened to a rather disgruntled Daniel and a stern-faced Mitchell. They both sent him disapproving scowls. He stood up, tossed Daniel the keys, grabbed his bags and walked passed them without a word.

"You _stole _my car?!"

"_Borrowed_, Daniel. I borrowed your car. It's good as new with a full tank of gas." He turned around and faced them. "Where's Mac?"

"Nice haircut," Mitchell returned facetiously.

"I don't have time for this," he replied. "Where's Mac?"

"I can't believe you stole my car!" Daniel continued as if nothing that had just happened had registered in his brain.

"_Borrowed_!" He returned. "And, you didn't answer my question."

"You're in a lot of trouble," Mitchell pointed out.

"Damn it!" He snapped. "One of you: Mac. Where is he? _Now._"

Confused looks took up residence on their faces as it finally registered that something was wrong and it was more important than Daniel's car.

"He's with Sam and Teal'c… in her lab," Daniel said slowly.

Chuck pushed passed them, making a B-line for his quarters, and then to Sam's lab.

"What just happened?" Mitchell asked.

"I have no idea," Daniel said just prior to their decision to follow him.

* * *

"We have a problem," Chuck said, entering the lab.

"Yeah, you stole Daniel's car," Mac retorted. "And, almost got us in some serious trouble. I managed to talk them down. You're welcome."

Chuck rolled his eyes.

"I borrowed his car. I returned it without a scratch and with a full tank of gas. But, that's not the problem."

Mac's posture straightened and he tensed. "Yssik?"

"Worse."

"There's _worse_?" Sam asked only to be ignored by the two young men. Chuck grabbed Mac by the arm and pulled him to the far corner, their backs to Sam.

"Rachel," he whispered as Daniel and Mitchell entered the lab as well.

"What? Where?"

"Here."

"Stay away from her," he warned quietly. "Nothing good can come from this."

"That might not be possible."

"Make it possible."

"She works here. Shrink."

"Shit," he whispered.

"I don't know what to do."

"Stay away from her. I'll take care of it."

"I don't know if I can."

"I'm not giving you a choice!" Mac's voice rose in decibel.

"Mac, she's…"

"I know," he replied. "Just stay away. I mean it. It's not fair."

"I'll try," he conceded before leaving the room without another word.

"What just happened?" Daniel asked when Chuck left the room.

"It's… complicated," Mac sighed. "I need you to trust me right now: do not let your new shrink anywhere near him."

"Why not?"

"History," he said. Their faces begged for more of an explanation but that was all he was willing to give.

"This just got juicy," Vala said, entering the lab with them. They all shot her the same look. "What kind of history?" she asked with a grin.

Mac didn't say anything, but instead walked out of the lab leaving the members of SG-1 confused.

"This is getting old," Mitchell said. "Fast."

"Indeed," Teal'c replied.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," Vala announced. It was obvious her intentions were on a more personal, gossipy level, but no one complained. She and Chuck had seemed to develop a rapport. As far as they knew, it could only work to their advantage.

* * *

Chuck was stretched out on the couch in his quarters, half-watching TV. His mind was elsewhere. Things were not playing out as they were supposed to be. They were supposed to come here, build the weapon, beat the bad guys, and everyone was supposed to live happily ever after. Instead, they'd come here and hit every conceivable obstacle.

General Hammond, whom he could have easily won over, was dead. General Landry wasn't as trusting. Lucky for him, Jack was working and living in Washington – which, as of right now was more of a relief than anything. He couldn't trust this Mitchell guy. Vala and Daniel weren't married, which wasn't really an obstacle per se but more an inconvenience. He couldn't use that to his advantage.

Teal'c was only on Earth half of the time, apparently. Sam had been in Washington and was only assigned back to the SGC because of him. For that, he was sure she wasn't happy. Any dolt would have known that she was with Jack. But, who was he to complain? It wasn't his life.

Then, there was this Rachel situation. She was alive. Here. She was working at the SGC. That was something he'd never planned on facing. She wasn't supposed to be working here. She was supposed to be living in New Mexico still working as a psychologist for the police department.

Those had been the constants and if everything had just stayed the way they were supposed to be, he could have gotten in, done his job, and things would have been okay.

He let out a sigh. It was time to crack down on why he was here. It was time to get things rolling for that weapon and stop playing around. He had to figure out how they were getting hopping realities and he had to figure out how to stop them.

He set down his drink, shut off the TV, and made his way to the desk, pulling out one of his new composition books and a pen. He opened his MacBook, set up his iPad, and began poring over the file he'd prepared for his briefing a few weeks ago. It was time to get to work.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This chapter and the next were actually going to be one chapter but there was too much for what I wanted to accomplish. So, consider this chapter part one! :) Chapter Seven should be up sometime tomorrow night! _

Six

Colonel Samantha Carter entered the briefing room. Most of her team was already seated and waiting, Dr. Lam sitting amongst them. She presumed this briefing had something to do with their guests.

Chuck and Mac had been with them for nearly six weeks. Although their first few weeks had been rough to say the least, she'd found Chuck particularly helpful in the last few days. Oddly so, she silently reminded herself. She was sure that giving him an office helped him to feel more at home, which she'd overheard him confide in Mac that not once had he felt as such.

"At ease," the general said. She found herself returning to her seat. She hadn't noticed when she sat nor had she even noticed she'd risen from her seat. It must have been instinct and reflex working in harmony to not rouse suspicion of her lack of attention.

"Colonel Carter," General Landry said, bringing her back into the moment. "Have you found anything?"

"Uh," she began. "Not quite, yet, Sir. Although, Chuck seems very focused. He showed up earlier with an entirely new notebook full of… Honestly, sir, I'm not sure what it is. The math is so…" she trailed for a moment, desperately searching recesses of her brain for the proper word. It betrayed her when all she could say was, "impressive."

"You believe him," Mitchell deduced. "What he says about the Yssik."

"It's hard not to," she replied. "We haven't gotten very far, but having him work with me is definitely helping."

"Good to hear."

"You said he's been focused?" It was Dr. Lam's inquiry and something about her tone seemed to throw off everyone.

"Yes?"

She nodded silently for a moment.

"Doctor?" Daniel asked, prompting an explanation.

"Physically, he's healing quite well. Faster, even, than I would have expected given the state he was in and the running around he's done despite my cautions." She exhaled, "But I'm worried about his mental well-being."

"What do you mean?" The general asked.

"Post-traumatic stress. He's been through a lot. There's no doubt about that. Three different realities where in all of them, excluding this one, he watched his loved ones die. He's very determined to change the outcome."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Vala asked incredulously.

"Maybe," she replied, making a point to add, "in most cases, but not in someone with an undiagnosed case of PTSD." She turned to the general. "I highly recommend that he see someone before he's allowed to continue working."

"With all due respect," Carter interjected. "We can't do this without him. This is _his_ research."

"His behavior the last several days," she began, "has me concerned as his doctor. He's been shot, he's undergone major surgery, and if he's not lying to us, he's watched people close to him die more than once. He's probably also had to kill people," she faced the general again. "I'm concerned. If you keep pushing him, he's going to do more than steal a car and go shopping."

"You're saying he'll crack," Daniel said. She nodded.

The general thought for a moment.

"What about Mr. MacKenna?" He asked.

"I'd like him to see someone, too," she replied. "He's also survived quite a bit of trauma. I'd like to submit them both for a full psychiatric evaluation, before they snap." She let out a breath. "I'm just not sure that they're as ready to be working on something like this as you or they think they are."

"I'll take that into consideration," he replied. "In the meantime, schedule them for the evaluation. I want a copy of the results and we'll go from there." She nodded. He faced SG-1. "Dr. Jackson, what have you learned about the Yssik from Mr. MacKenna?"

"Unfortunately, not a lot," he replied. "Mac doesn't seem to know much about them beyond what he's already told us and I haven't been able to find anything on them from our database. I've been looking over the file that Chuck gave us from his briefing a few weeks ago, but there's not really much in there, either."

"Until further notice I'm suspending them both pending their psychiatric evaluations," the general said.

"Sir?" Sam heard herself say.

"That means you'll have to do it without him for now, Colonel." He rose from his seat. "Dismissed."

* * *

"What the hell is this psych test bullshit?" Chuck demanded, slamming a sheet of paper on Sam's desk.

"General's orders," she said.

"This is bullshit!" He protested. "I'm not allowed to work because my brain might be broken, my feelings might be hurt? Are you kidding me?"

She sighed. "I can't do anything about it."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't. He's my boss."

"You can call his boss." Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Jack. Call him."

"I'm not calling General O'Neill."

"Why not? You were on the phone with him earlier. It sounded like a personal call." She shot him a look that told him he was rapidly approaching a line. In a state of defiance, he danced across it. "I'm not stupid, Sam. There was always _one_ constant in every reality: you and Jack."

"Chuck…" she said warningly.

"I'm not going to tell on you," he said, rolling his eyes. "I need you to call him. I need to get back on this. We are wasting valuable time!"

Her eyes narrowed in concern as his tone grew more and more urgent and desperate.

"Sam," he continued. "I am begging you. Make that call."

"I can't, Chuck," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"This is bullshit," he growled through gritted teeth and stormed out of her lab. She let out a sigh. "Get the hell out of my way," she heard him snap to some unsuspecting passerby. She let out a deep breath.

"What's his problem?" Mitchell asked, entering the lab with Teal'c. "He almost took us out in the hall."

"Psych eval," she sighed. "He's not thrilled about it."

"Evidently," Teal'c said. She smirked.

Mitchell let out a heavy sigh and nearly fell back into a chair.

* * *

"I can't believe this!" Chuck said. "This is complete crap! I'm being punished for helping now?"

"You're not being punished," Daniel replied. "Dr. Lam just wants to make sure that you're okay to work without…" he trailed off.

"With out what? Losing my damned marbles? I'm not crazy! Immature? Maybe." He let out a very frustrated sigh. "All I've done since I got here is try to help! Why am I being benched for that?"

"I don't know, Chuck," Daniel sighed. "Maybe, it's because you got shot. Maybe, it's because you said you watched us die repeatedly."

"Maybe, it's because they don't trust me," he snarled. "That has to be it. Yes, I borrowed your car. I got a damned hair cut and bought some clothes! I came right back! I was exactly where I said I'd be! I've been busting my ass with Sam trying to figure out how, when, and where the bad guys are going to show up here! I'm trying to save your lives!"

"Maybe, that's it, too," He replied sympathetically. "You're obsessed."

"You know what, Daniel? Fuck you," he said, walking out of Daniel's office.

No one was helping him. No one had his back. It was getting old.

Somehow, he'd managed to make it to the General's office. If no one would have his back, he'd have his own.

"What the hell is this?" He demanded, tossing the paper on the desk. "You think I'm crazy?"

"Quite frankly, yes," The General retorted. "Take a seat."

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. "All I've done is help. I've been really good the last few days. I've worked, I haven't gone AWOL, and I've hardly watched TV. I'm eating right, going to all of my appointments, taking my pills on time. I haven't even had any alcohol since they told me not to. I've been to every briefing – on time, even. So, where's the hang up?"

"Mr. -," the general paused, realizing that Chuck steadfastly refused to divulge his last name. "Chuck," he corrected himself. "Before anyone on my base begins working here, before steps through that gate, they have psych evaluation. You haven't had one. Until you are medically _and mentally_ cleared for duty, you will not work on this base."

"Except in the comfort of my quarters, you mean," he said, making his intentions perfectly clear.

"I can't stop you there," he replied.

Chuck's eyes narrowed. This was "his" base, he reasoned silently. He could confiscate Chuck's things if he so desired. He was giving him the benefit of the doubt

"General," he said quietly and calmly. "I _need_ to be working. It's all I've got. We don't know when or where or how they're going be here, but they _will_. We're not even close to ready for them. Hell, they could already be here and we just don't know it, yet." He sat in a chair across from the general. "They were in my reality for years before we even knew it. We know, for a fact, that they're coming here. This is our shot."

The general shot him a sympathetic look but only said, "I'm sorry, Son. Once Dr. Wade clears you, you can return to your research."

"Doc-duh-doctor who?" He stuttered.

"Dr. Rachel Wade," he replied. "Our new psychologist."

"I can't talk to her, Sir."

"You don't have a choice, Chuck."

"No, you don't understand. I will happily and freely talk to _anyone_ else, but I can't talk to her." He was begging.

"Why not?"

"It's complicated," he replied awkwardly.

"Uncomplicate it."

"I think you mean, 'Simplify it'. 'Uncomplicate' isn't," he paused for a split second upon catching the look the general was giving him, "a word." Without another word, he turned around and left the office.

* * *

Vala sat on the couch in Chuck's office as he paced back and forth, ranting on and on about the new doctor he was being forced to see.

"I don't know what to do, V," he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm at an impasse: I can't work until I'm cleared, but the one person they've assigned me to see is the _last_ person I should be seeing."

"You still haven't said why," she pointed out. She was all for helping her most recent friend, but she was finding it more and more difficult to give him advice when he refused anything more than ambiguity.

"It's…"

"Complicated," they finished together. Vala rolled her eyes.

"You keep saying that," she said, "But you still haven't said what's so complicated about it."

"She's not supposed to be here," he said. "She's supposed to be in Albuquerque."

She rolled her eyes. "Chuck, don't make up places."

He shot her a look. "Albuquerque is in New Mexico. It's like six hours from here." He shook it from his mind. "Anyway, she's supposed to be working at the police department as their psychologist. Not here."

"What's it matter _where_ she works?"

He sat down at his desk and said, "It matters," in a near whisper.

She studied him for a moment.

"You were together," she said. He looked up. "Don't deny it. I've seen way too many movies to know that you were together." He nodded. She perked up. "I knew it! Spill."

"We met in college," he sighed. "She worked at this coffee place on campus. Mac and I used to go in there just so I could flirt with her. They had this trivia board and if you could get the answer right, your coffee was free. I always got it right so it became kind of a running joke."

He smiled ruefully.

"What happened?" She asked.

"The bad guys," he sighed. "There were a few of us that practically lived in the walls of this place during the attack and for several months afterward: Me, You, Mac, Daniel, Jack, Sam, Rachel…" He trailed off for a moment as if silently reliving the experience. "One day, Zak and Danny – your son and my half-brother – were sick and we went out to get some supplies." He looked up at her, tears threatening to escape his eyes. "They found us," he whispered. "They slaughtered everyone. She died in my arms." He sniffed back the tears. "After that, it was just Mac and I. It has been ever since."

She sat silently, not knowing what to say.

"Zak was four," he said. "Four. My brother was eleven. They killed them. They killed you. They killed Daniel. They killed Jack. They killed Sam. They killed Rachel." The tears escaped his eyes. "I haven't seen Rachel in any reality since mine. I've looked her up and she's always been in ABQ."

"ABQ?"

"Albuquerque." He wiped his eyes and sipped his Yoo-Hoo. "Always. I've never had to see her." He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy breath. "This reality is so screwed up: you and Daniel aren't married, I'm not sure what Jack and Sam are, Cam's here, Hammond is dead, Rachel works here…" he trailed off. "I can do this, V. They're just trying really hard to keep me from doing it."

"They did give you an office," she pointed out. He frowned. "I'm just saying, it's more than I've ever gotten."

He nodded. "I wish they'd quit fighting me every step of the way. I mean, every time I come up with something, there's a mountain of paperwork to go along with it. I'm like, come on!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "They say they want me to help, they give me an office, but they make it damned near impossible to get anything accomplished."

There was a small knock on the door that demanded both of their attention. Daniel stood there. A concerned look filled his features.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "What's up?"

"Hungry?"

"Always." His eyes narrowed. "What's happening?"

"We're going to O'Malley's. Thought you might enjoy some time -."

"Not underground? Absolutely."

"We're leaving in twenty minutes."

"I'll meet you up top," he replied. Daniel glanced to Vala and then back to Chuck, nodded, and left them. "I guess, I need to get ready."

"Yeah," she replied.

"Hey, uh, don't say anything about Rachel."

She nodded. "Why'd you tell me?" She asked.

"I've told you before, we were close. I could always trust you." He shrugged and headed to his quarters.

* * *

The group burst into laughter. Chuck, slightly embarrassed, nodded and sipped his Coke.

"I'm telling you," Mac said. "It was easily one of the funniest things I've ever seen."

"In my defense," Chuck protested. I had absolutely no idea he was a Senator. I didn't vote."

They laughed again.

"That's hilarious," Mitchell said, still laughing the more he thought about it.

"Good ol' Kinsey," Daniel replied, chuckling himself.

"You okay?" Mac whispered, noticing the sudden change in his friend's demeanor.

"I'm fine," he whispered in return. "Excuse me," he said, rising from his seat. "I need some air." Before anyone had a chance to respond, he was up and headed for the bar.

"What's up with him?"

"It's a rough time for him right now," Mac sighed.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, genuinely concerned.

"It's complicated." He sipped his drink. "He didn't have good relationship with you guys and now here we are…" he gestured to the group with his hands.

"Or, that could be the reason," Vala said, pointing behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. When he turned around, he hung his head and let out a heavy breath.

"Actually, that probably _is_ the reason," he rose. "I'm just surprised you know that." He looked at everyone else. "I'll be right back." Without an explanation, he followed his friend to the bar.

They all faced Vala with the same expectation.

"What?" She asked, popping a French fry in her mouth.

"What do you know?" Daniel asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

She rolled her eyes.

"I promised him I wouldn't say anything." She paused. "Stop looking at me like that. I can't tell you."

"Spill it," Sam pressed.

"Ugh! Fine!" She replied. "Don't him you know – or, that I told you. That girl, they had a thing."

"This is over a girl?" Daniel said slightly dumbfounded and slightly annoyed at the same time.

"It was serious," Mitchell said. Everyone looked at him. "What? She's on a date and he hit the bar. It was serious."

There was a moment of silence before Sam said, "That's why he doesn't want to talk to her." Mitchell blinked in confusion as Vala nodded. "She's the new psychologist on base. General Landry ordered him to talk to her."

Daniel kept eyeing the bar, watching Chuck and Mac's conversation clearly growing heated.

"I'm going to check on them," he said.

He slowly approached the bar.

"No, Chuck!" Mac snapped. "You cannot do this. She's with –."

"The wrong guy!" He protested.

"Chuck, he's not wrong guy. You're dead here! For her, maybe _he's_ the right guy."

"Whose side are you on?" Chuck demanded. "You do this, you know. You did this on cases, too."

"She's not your wife, Chuck!"

"You think I don't know that?" He demanded angrily.

Daniel felt his eyebrows shoot up, threatening to fly off of his forehead. He turned around and made his way back to the table.

"What's wrong with you?" Mitchell asked when he sat back down.

"Well, it was definitely serious," he replied. They stared at him expectantly. "They were married."

Their gazes shifted to Vala.

"I didn't know!" She said defensively. "He just said they were together."

"Did you know that he was also a detective? Not just Mac." She shook her head.

"He didn't tell me that, either."

"Anyone headed back toward the base?" Mac said with a sigh. "Chuck's pretty drunk. I need to get him back before he does something stupid."

"Yeah," Daniel replied. "I'll take you."

"Thanks."

* * *

"We should run a background check on this guy," the quite drunken Chuck slurred.

"We're not detectives, anymore, bro," Mac said softly.

"I'm always a detective," he slurred proudly. "I still have my badge."

Daniel made eye contact with Mac in the rear view mirror. Mac nodded.

There were several moments of silence before Chuck said, "Mac?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"My heart feels like soggy toilet paper."

"That's gross."

"I don't like it," he said.

"I know, dude," he sighed.

"I never should have taken that case from him…" He paused briefly and barely managed to say, "It hurts worse than being shot. I should know. I've done it."

Mac let out a breath, but Chuck was already passed out.

"What did he mean?"

Mac hesitated a moment before explaining. "He didn't have a very good relationship with his family. His dad left him when he was like ten and he didn't really talk to him again until he was like seventeen. A few months after we got our detective shields, he was approached about a case. There was a Goa'uld running around on Earth: Ba'al – or, something like that. I don't really know all of the details, but somehow the case was presented to him and I talked him into taking it. That's how we met you guys." He paused. "Well, I met you because he's my best friend and we were partners at work so, I was on the case with him, but he already knew Jack and Sam."

"Is he going to be okay?" Vala asked.

"Eventually," he sighed before adding, "I hope."


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

The alarmed blared obnoxiously. It took a moment before Chuck realized that it was going off and he needed to get ready for work. He groaned loudly and attempted to slap the snooze button, missing it several times before throwing the clock across the room.

He sat up in his bed. His head pounded and he was still in his clothes from the previous night. Silently, he attempted to recall what had happened. He remembered going to O'Malley's for dinner and fighting a bit with Mac. There was something about a car ride and toilet paper, but it was a blur. Several seemingly long minutes passed before he finally managed to get out of the bed and make it to the shower.

After making his way to his office, he slumped in his chair and put his head down on the desk.

"Here," a voice said. He looked up to see Daniel standing before him with a bottle of aspirin and a Gatorade.

"Thanks," he replied. "I'm surprised you knew to get Gatorade, but thank you."

"Electrolytes," was the only response he received. "I was in college, too."

Chuck nodded. "I dropped out of college and became a cop, but I get your point." He held up the bottle of Gatorade and said, "It's appreciated. Really."

"I know exactly who you are." His face and tone were impassive. Chuck studied him for a moment. "You lied."

"Daniel," he sighed impatiently. "I lie to you often and freely; you're going to have to be a little more specific."

"You didn't tell us that you were married," he began.

"It wasn't important."

"You never mentioned being a detective."

"Unless my ability to solve a crime is being called into question, it's also irrelevant."

"Jor-El."

"What?"

"From your briefing. You were Superman in the analogy, but I didn't catch on until you got trashed last night."

He stared at him able to do nothing but swallow in a vain attempt to wet his throat.

"You're Jack's son, aren't you?" Chuck's jaw tightened as he added, "Charlie."

Chuck let out a sigh and motioned for Daniel to sit on the couch.

"How'd you know?"

"Something you said last night," he replied. "I put the pieces together: the briefing, the reports…" he trailed. Chuck only nodded, slowly and absently. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It was never anyone's business," he shrugged.

"It's Jack's."

"No, Daniel," he replied firmly. "It isn't."

"He has a right to know."

"And, just how do you plan to drop that bomb?" He challenged. Daniel stared in a heated silence. He exhaled loudly. "Just let it go, man."

"You need to tell him," Daniel insisted.

Chuck let out a frustrated sigh. "Are you thinking this through? That's one hell of a bomb that doesn't need to be dropped."

"He would want to know," Daniel protested.

"I doubt that," Chuck muttered. Then, he added, "How do you plan on telling him, Daniel? 'Hey Jack, you know your dead son? Well, he's not so dead. He's twenty-seven now and he's been here for the last six weeks'." He frowned. "Dude, you can't."

"Don't call me, 'dude'."

"You're General O'Neill's son?" Their attention jerked from each other to the doorway where they found Mitchell standing in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you."

"See, you do like me," he retorted with an obnoxious grin. "I have warm, fuzzy feelings right here," he said tapping part of his body.

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "Your liver?"

"My heart. It's fluttering."

"Shut up," Mitchell said, sitting on the couch. Chuck smirked. He added, "Your heart is on the other side... and, up."

He glanced up to the silent Daniel. He was still frowning. The conversation, to Chuck's dismay, was far from being finished.

"What, Daniel?" Chuck demanded. "What?"

"He deserves to know," was the only reply he gave before walking out of the younger man's office.

Chuck glanced to Mitchell who rose from his seat and followed his teammate.

After a moment, Chuck grabbed the football on the desk and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room.

"Damn it!"

He grabbed his injury involuntarily. He didn't think about the pain that would cause. He slumped back into his chair and exhaled several times.

"You okay?" Mac asked, sitting on the couch. "I heard yelling."

"Daniel knows."

"About?"

"Daniel knows who I am. He's gonna tell Jack."

Mac let out a breath. "He's right to tell him. He deserves to know."

"For God's sake," Chuck sighed. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm on yours, bro," he replied.

"How are we supposed to do this now? If _Daniel_ figured it out, it's only a matter of time before the bad guys figure it out, too. What do I do then?"

"First, you can ditch 'Chuck'. That never really suited you," he retorted. His friend frowned. "Secondly, maybe this is a good thing. We've been to three realities now, and we _finally_ don't have to watch what we say and who knows, maybe they'll work with us if we're not hiding anything."

"I'm always hiding things, Mac. That's we've kept them safe so far!" He leaned back in his chair and sipped his Gatorade before saying, "Daniel's going to tell him. He can't help himself; he always has to fix everything."

"Maybe, you can have a different relationship with him now."

"He's not my dad, Mac. My dad died a long time ago."

"DNA will say otherwise," he retorted. "I'm just saying, bro: It's a fresh start."

Chuck let out a sigh.

"Chuck doesn't suit me? Really?"

Mac shook his head. "Not even a little."

"I thought it sounded professional."

"With your personality, it makes you sound like a douche bag."

They exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

After a little bit, Chuck said, "I have to tell the general and I'll probably have to give another briefing."

"Probably," Mac replied, still chuckling. His features grew more serious. "No pretending, bro. We tell them everything this time: Rachel, Daniel and V, Jack and Sam, the joyride, all of it."

"We can't tell them everything; not, yet. They can't handle that much information at a time. You know that as well as I do."

"Then, at least, answer their questions honestly." He paused before adding, "They deserve that much. They can figure out the rest."

"Mac, do not tell them about the joyride," he begged. "Please."

Mac nodded. "Alright. We'll let them figure it out, if it comes to that." He let out a deep breath. "Everything else, we tell them."

"I don't like it, but it's fair."

* * *

"Wait, _what_?" Sam asked, total shock taking over her features. Daniel nodded in affirmation. "Someone has to tell him."

"I thought the same thing."

They stared in silence.

"Oh, it's not going to be me!" She said. "I'm not breaking _that_ news."

"Sam," he said in disbelief. They looked at Teal'c who simply raised an eyebrow in response. "Draw straws?"

"You could always do Rock, Paper, Scissors. Mac and I solve all of our disagreements that way," he paused. "Well, not all of them but, when neither of us want to do something, that's how we settle it."

"Why didn't you tell us who you are?" Sam asked.

"It wasn't important."

"Yes, it is," she retorted.

He let out a breath. "If it makes you feel any better, I just had to tell the general. He wasn't too happy and he made me come here to tell you, but clearly you already know, so…" he turned around to exit.

"Don't even think about it," she said in a tone he hadn't heard in quite some time.

"Ah, normalcy," he retorted, although not one of them understood it. He slumped in the open chair. They stared at him expectantly. "Okay, fine," He said in a tone almost identical to the one they had grown accustomed to from his father. "My name is Detective Charlie O'Neill. I worked for the Albuquerque Police Department. I was married to Dr. Rachel O'Neill, here she's known as Dr. Wade. I had a crappy relationship with my family until I was about twenty-two. I had a brother named Danny." He faced Sam. "Your son. He was killed at age eleven. Daniel, you and Vala were married and had son named Zak. He was four. As far as Cameron and Landry, I didn't know anything about them." No one said anything for a few minutes, so he added, "I didn't tell you who I was because I was trying to protect you."

"From who?" Sam asked.

"_Whom_," Charlie corrected her. "I thought the less you knew, the better. Clearly, it just created a whole slew of problems for me." After a few awkward moments, he pointed to the door with his thumb. "I have work to do."

"Are you still avoiding your psych eval?" Daniel asked.

He grinned. "He said I can't do my research in my office. He said nothing about paying me to play Solitaire."

Sam couldn't help but to grin. Daniel glowered. With that, he left Daniel's office and made his way to his own.

* * *

Jack O'Neill hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He had seen, heard, and been apart of a great many things over the years, but this was the last thing he'd ever expected to face. Charlie was alive and at the SGC.

Without a word, he rose from his seat and bolted out of his office. He had to get to Colorado. He had to see him. His son was alive.


	8. Chapter 8

Eight

"What are you doing?" Mac asked, sitting at the table across from his friend.

"The crossword," he replied without looking up from his puzzle.

Mac's brow furrowed. "It's Friday."

"Last week's."

"Why didn't you do it last week?"

"I wasn't getting the Times last week," he shrugged. "What's with the interrogation? You know something that I don't know?"

"Charlie, I know a lot of things that you don't know," Mac deadpanned, before taking a bite of his cereal.

Charlie paused, thinking for a moment. "Fair. Counterpoint: I also know things that you don't."

"Fair. Counter-counterpoint: I kick your ass at Guitar Hero."

"Counter-counter-counterpoint: No chance in Hell."

"Is that a challenge?"

Charlie looked up from his puzzle for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. "Why, yes. I do believe it is."

"Tonight, after work. Your quarters."

"Done," He said. "You buy the pizza; I'll supply the drinks."

"Done."

With that, they shook hands and laughed. Charlie pushed the puzzle to the side and sipped his Yoo-Hoo.

"So, what are you working on today?" Mac asked.

"Same ol' stuff," he sighed. "I have an idea that I want to run. So, I'll probably spend most of the day working on that. You?"

"Helping Daniel," he said before he took another bite of cereal.

"Any further along on the bad guy stuff?"

"Bad guy stuff?" Mac repeated in amusement.

"You know I can't pronounce their name and if I were to say 'zombie stuff,' it would just sound ridiculous."

Mac, chewing his food, nodded in amusement.

"That's fair," he said. "To answer your question: no, we aren't. There isn't _one_ reference of the race in this reality. Not one."

"Maybe, you're looking at it the wrong way," Charlie said, just before taking another sip.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it," he began, "We didn't run into them until we met the Furlings." There was a brief pause before he continued. "This isn't me telling you how to your job, but maybe instead of focusing on the bad guys, why don't you focus on the Furlings?"

"That's… actually a good idea," he replied. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're not me."

Mac frowned. Charlie shrugged.

"Pitch the idea to Daniel. I'm sure he'll like it, too," he said, rising from his seat. "I have to get on this. I'll swing in a little later and see if I can help you come up with anything else."

"Thanks, bro," Mac replied.

Charlie flung his bag over his shoulder and headed to his office.

* * *

Mac entered Daniel's office. He was sitting at his desk, face buried in research. There was no telling how long he'd actually been on base already.

"Yo," Mac said, making his presence known. Daniel jumped. Mac raised an eyebrow, not expecting such a response. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he replied.

"Did you sleep here?" He inquired, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"No, I got here early." He rounded up a few papers and nearly shoved them to Mac as the younger man attempted to settle in a chair. "I've been running searches for characteristics of the Yssik in various folklore," he began. "Unfortunately, I haven't been able to come up with much, but these are some possibilities. Some of the key characteristics are similar."

"Well," Mac said, skimming through some of the information on the first page. "I was talking to Charlie this morning and he came up with an interesting idea that we could try." Daniel looked at him expectantly. "Instead of trying to find information on the Yssik in a galaxy-sized haystack, why don't we narrow it down a bit?"

"How?"

"Instead of running searches on Yssik-type instances and whatnot, let's go back to the beginning: the Furlings."

"You want us to research the Furlings?"

"Yes."

"I've done all kinds of research on them over the years," he replied.

"No offense, but you didn't have us helping you. You didn't have someone with a legit encounter with them. " Daniel nodded as he spoke. "Daniel, what I'm saying is that now you have a different angle to approach. So, let's take all of your research and start there."

"That's a good idea, actually."

"I know." He let out a sigh. "When's your team due back?"

"A couple of days."

"It doesn't kill you that they went off-world without you?"

"I'm working on this," he shrugged.

Mac nodded. He could accept that. He'd known Daniel Jackson for years now. If there was one thing the man liked better than anything else, it was research.

"How's Charlie?" Daniel asked after several moments of silence. "Is he nervous?"

It was a seemingly random question that took Mac by complete surprise.

"About what?"

"Jack."

"What about Jack?" Mac asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Daniel's eyes widened at the realization that neither of the younger men knew what was happening.

"Sam said he's on his way here," Daniel said slowly.

Mac's jaw dropped. "What? Are you guys insane or just plain stupid?"

"Excuse me?"

"He begged you guys to wait to tell him. He's not ready to see him!"

Daniel let out a breath.

"Jack deserved to know."

"I'm not disputing that, but he doesn't need to show up. Charlie's on a roll right now and this... This is not a good idea."

He stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Sam."

"Why?"

Mac frowned in response, saying nothing and exiting the office.

* * *

The trek from Daniel's office to Sam's lab went by all too quickly. He'd hardly even noticed the time that went by.

"Hey," he said, entering the lab.

"Hey," she greeted in return.

"Is Charlie around?" he asked.

"I haven't seen him all morning," she replied. "I'd say, he's in his office."

"Good," he said. She caught the shift in his countenance.

"Are you okay?"

"True or false: Jack O'Neill is on his way here."

She sighed and put her tools down. "True."

"Why?"

"Charlie is his son. They deserve it."

"By 'they,' you mean, 'Jack'," he nearly snarled. "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to Charlie?"

It wasn't quite a demand, but it was slightly more than a mere inquiry. Sam was fully aware of this.

"It was the right thing to do," she protested softly.

"For who?" he asked. "Sam, he specifically asked you guys not to call him right now. He's not ready." He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose before saying, "Sam, he's trying really, really hard to be good and to move on. You guys just keeping throwing obstacles at him: Rachel; Jack; obscene amounts of paperwork. How is supposed to focus on beating these guys with Jack hanging around here? Have you thought of that? He doesn't need another distraction; he needs to work."

"Mac, I understand that you're defensive of him, but Charlie's a grown man."

"Not mentally," Mac retorted, causing her to smirk. He let out a breath. "It's like you guys refuse to trust him to do his job so you keep throwing crap at him and hope he fails so you can lock him up."

"That's not true," she said.

"He thinks it is," he sighed. "He questions every move he makes because he knows you guys don't trust him and he can't do what he needs to do because of it." He paused. "I defend him because he's my best friend, the closest thing I've ever had to a brother. I know him better than anyone. He's busting his ass to try to help and to save your entire reality, and the only thing he has ever asked of you in return is that you wait to call Jack until he's ready to face him." His face grew stern, but his voice remained soft. "So, why is Jack O'Neill on a plane to Colorado Springs?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you interrogating me?"

He paused for a moment, realizing for the first time that he was involuntarily applying one of his interrogation tactics. "Not intentionally." He let out a sigh. "I just don't understand, Sam. I really don't get you guys, sometimes."

"It was the right thing to do, Justin," she replied before letting out a sigh. "It's more complicated than just not calling him."

"What do you mean?"

"We should have told him right away," she replied. His eyes narrowed as he silently waited for an elaboration. "He's the director of Homeworld Security in Washington, D.C. We were supposed to file a report as soon as we found out who you were. We waited for nearly a week."

"Why?"

"Charlie."

"Wonderful," he sighed facetiously.

"We held off as long as we could, but the General didn't have a choice. He _had_ to make a report. We felt it was best to call him and let him hear it from a friend than from paperwork."

"Jack's going to be pissed and that's not going to help matters," he sighed. "Did he know about us from the beginning?"

"Yes," she replied. "But, the second we found out who Charlie was, there should have been a report."

Mac paused for a moment, before finally vocalizing his thoughts. "Isn't this a conflict of interest?"

"How so?"

"Well, here Charlie's dead. We made sure of that before we came here. If Jack has to make any decisions on anything concerning us, he's automatically biased.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean you made sure of it?"

"The short version is that we can't exist in another reality in which we already exist. If we were to go there, we would suffer, what Charlie calls, entropic cascade failure. I'm not really sure what happens, but it's bad for us and we'd eventually die. He knows a lot more about it than I do. I don't really know how he does it, but he has his ways of figuring this crap out and he hasn't been wrong, yet." A rueful look briefly passed upon his face. "We've had to ignore two different realities because of it." He paused for several, long seconds and swallowed before saying, "Sam, does Charlie know that Jack is on his way here?"

She let out a breath and shook her head ruefully. "No, he doesn't."

"Wonderful," he sighed. "Just wonderful."

* * *

Charlie stared at his whiteboard in frustration, notebook in his hand. He glanced back and forth between the two for several seconds before taking a photo of the information on the board and completely erasing it. He flopped down on the couch. Something was off; he just needed to figure out exactly what it was.

He let out a heavy, annoyed breath and checked his watch. It was only ten o'clock. He needed a snack. Silently, he rose from his spot on the couch. He set his notebook atop the desk and left his office.

Lost amongst his thoughts, the trip to the vending machine seemed far shorter than he knew it was. He stared at the array of snacks before him, but nothing was particularly appealing. He couldn't focus on much of anything right now.

With a sigh, he selected a bag of chips and made his way back to his office.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Sam looked up at the mere fact that someone would knock on her lab door. It was a rare occurrence anymore. She half-expected it to be Mac, ready to yell at her again.

"Hey!" She greeted in an almost dumbfounded tone.

"Carter," General O'Neill smiled back.

She looked at her watch.

"You're early," was the only reply she could give.

He frowned. "Yeah, I missed you, too."

She made a face. "That's not what I meant," she tried again. "I'm happy to see you, too, Sir."

"Sir," he replied in amusement. She frowned.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Neither of them wanted to address the reason behind this visit.

"What are you working on?" he asked instead.

"I'm proofing some stuff that Charlie gave me," she said, stopping abruptly when she'd realized the person she'd mentioned unintentionally.

Jack only nodded.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly. "It's…" she stopped.

"I'm fine," he said. He let out a breath. "I just never thought I'd see him again."

"I know," she replied.

The awkward silence returned. There were several, long minutes of it.

"Where is he?" he finally asked, realizing that he _would_ have to face him eventually.

"He's in his office," she said. "Do you want me to take you there?"

"Uh, no," he said. "I think I can find it."

She nodded, completely understanding his need to do this one alone.

* * *

Jack stood in the doorway of his son's office, unable to fully enter the room without an invitation. He opened his mouth to say something, but was betrayed by silence. Instead of fighting it, he remained silent and used to opportunity to observe his son and assess the situation.

Charlie was sitting at his desk, ear buds in his ears, vigorously writing in a composition book. He rarely saw anyone that focused. It made him wonder if he should just come back and try again later. Yet, he found himself unable to move.

His son was much leaner than Jack had imagined him to be, but his muscles were clearly defined. The yellow shirt accented his light brown hair. This, too, surprised him: who wore civvies to a job on a top-secret military base? It made Jack grin.

Charlie may not have gotten his work ethic, but he'd certainly received his blatant disregard for the most basic of rules. He wasn't sure if he should be proud of that fact or if he should be worried.

"Speak or leave," Charlie said without moving his gaze from his work. There was a hint of irritation in his voice. After a moment, he looked up and faced his father for the first time. His face grew solemn and he paled slightly in color.

"Who called you?" was all he could say after their slight staring contest.

"Daniel."

"That bastard," he cursed. Jack raised an eyebrow. "We had a deal." He let out a breath. "Never mind."

After a moment of silence, he motioned for Jack to sit on the couch as he leaned back in his chair. The older man awkwardly followed the direction.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Charlie said. Jack simply stared, eyebrow lifted. "Too soon?"

"A little." Charlie only nodded in response. Several moments of awkward silence followed. "Nice office," his father said, glancing around the room.

"It's in progress," Charlie replied. "I have a few things still in transit." Jack nodded. "This is awkward."

"A little," he replied.

More awkward silence followed.

"Well, I have work to do, so…"

Jack nodded and rose from his seat. Quite frankly, he was thankful for the reason to leave.

"Charlie," he said. His son raised an eyebrow. "We should… do… food."

Charlie smirked. "Really? 'We should do food'? That's classic." Jack shrugged. Charlie swallowed and said, "I'll think about it. I have a look work and timing is, very literally, an issue."

Jack nodded before walking out of his son's office.

After a moment, Charlie let out all the breath he seemed to have accrued. He picked up the phone and put it to his ear. Daniel Jackson was a dead man.

"Hello?" Mac's voice answered. This was better.

"My office. Now."

_A/N Yeah, it's been awhile since I updated last. I've been going like crazy. Side note - I wasn't sure if Jack is actually Director of Homeworld Security or if he just works in that office. I didn't watch SGU, so I don't know what canon actually is beyond "Atlantis" and SG-1 & SGA deleted scenes._


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So, I told myself that I wouldn't be one of those authors who writes a note before or after every chapter. Lotta good that's doing me, eh? lol. Anyway, I know it's been awhile; full time student, full time job. Here's this installment. I'm already halfway through the next chapter so, it'll be up in a day or so! Enjoy!

Nine

Mac made his way throughout the base to Charlie's office. He really was in no hurry. What was the point? He could easily tell by the tone of Charlie's voice that he'd spoken with Jack. He knew his friend well enough to know what this meant. It was enough to make him sigh at the mere thought. It would be senior year all over again.

He let out a breath. The last time Jack had re-entered Charlie's life unannounced, it nearly devastated him. Charlie had found out the day of his mother's funeral that Jack had another family and was happily living in Colorado Springs. He probably could have killed someone when he was told he had to live with Jack and finish high school in Colorado. That, alone, was a mess that Mac could have done without. He couldn't count the number of times that Jack or Sam had called him, in a near state of panic, asking if he'd heard from Charlie because he'd had gone missing.

"Are you going to stand there or get in here?" Charlie asked, starkly jerking him from his reverie.

"Sorry," Mac said, entering the office and flopping on the couch. "What's up?"

"Jack's here," he replied tartly. "He came to see me. In my office." He let out a sigh. "This is bad, bro."

Mac thought for a moment before replying. "Not necessarily. What did he say?"

"We should do food." Mac stared blankly in response. "No, really. Those are his exact words. He wants to have dinner. Presumably, tonight."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"What did you say?"

"I made no commitments," he said with a shrug.

Mac nodded before saying, "I think you should do it."

"That's a joke, right?"

"No, I really do. I think you should go eat dinner with your dad." He shrugged. "How bad could it be?"

"The dinner scene from _Alien _comes to mind." Charlie paused. "Although, the thought of an alien bursting out of one of our chests would make things more interesting."

"Don't be dramatic," Mac replied, rolling his eyes in the process. "What's it gonna hurt, besides your ego?"

"My ego can take it," he deadpanned. After a few seconds, he let out a sigh. "I'm just not sure that I want to deal with it, honestly. I have enough going on right now and I don't need any additional drama."

Mac nodded absently.

After a moment of silence, Charlie set two coffee mugs on the desk and pulled out a bottle of expensive looking Scotch. He poured the alcohol into the cups and set one in front of Mac.

"I don't need a drink."

"I do," Charlie retorted. "And, you're getting one."

"On the clock?"

"Why not?"

"Before noon?"

"Sure."

Mac shrugged and accepted the liquor. He took a sip.

"I think you should do, Charlie," he said solemnly. "You're twenty-seven years old. When all of this is finished, you're going to want a relationship with your family. I know you. Go to dinner with your dad."

"I was planning to move back to Albuquerque when this is over," Charlie retorted. "I was going to be a detective again."

Mac frowned. "You're my best friend. I know you better than that."

"I really was!"

"I don't doubt it, " he retorted. "I just know you wouldn't be able to stay away from Daniel and Vala and Sam and Teal'c. You don't get them without Jack. You can't avoid him forever."

Charlie growled in frustration.

"Damn your logic." He let out a sigh and held up his mug. "Here's to going for broke." He sipped his drink. "Order a pizza. I have plans to make." He picked up the phone on his desk and Mac rose from his spot.

"I'll make sure to get booze," he sighed. He knew Charlie well enough to know that they were going to be taking the rest of the day off and that they were going to need it.

* * *

Charlie set the phone back on the receiver when Mac left his office. This was going to be a lot harder than anyone else could understand – except, obviously, his father. Although, he was sure Jack was having the same difficulty he was having where his friends were concerned. He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, bringing his drink to his lips in the process. He'd call after this drink.

Four cups of alcohol later, Charlie finally found it within himself to call Sam's office and set up a meeting with his father. They were going to O'Malley's. Charlie would have preferred anywhere else, but it was familiar territory for both of them. He couldn't count how many times they'd eaten there when he lived with them in high school. Not to mention every time he was in Colorado Springs afterward, regardless of the reality. O'Malley's seemed to be the favorite restaurant.

Damn it, he should have agreed to coffee instead. It would have gone by far more quickly and he, likely, wouldn't have to answer as many questions. Why didn't he think of that sooner? There was no taking it back now, no matter how badly he wished he could.

He stomach rumbled, finally ready to eat something. Ironically enough, he didn't want to eat. He felt sick from the nerves. With a sigh, he rose from his seat, shut the door, and flopped on the couch. He couldn't work like this.

After several long moments, he got up off the couch, grabbed his stuff and went back to his quarters.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Charlie looked rose from his desk to answer it, surprised to find Daniel standing before him.

"Daniel?" Daniel shot him a look. His mother used to shoot him the same look when he did or said anything that reminded her of his father. It caused him to stiffen. "What do you want?" He asked, getting to the point.

"I'm driving you," he replied.

Charlie looked at his watch. "I still have two and a half hours and I need to shower."

"I thought you might want to get out of here for a little bit first."

Charlie felt his eyes narrow. "Why? I mean, I do, but why would you come to that conclusion?"

Daniel shrugged. "Do you want out of here or not?"

Charlie thought for a moment. "Can we go to the mall? I need… a giant soft pretzel."

"You're going to dinner."

"I missed lunch." He shrugged. Daniel rolled his eyes. "Plus, it's my comfort food."

"Let's go."

"Give me twenty minutes? I really do need to shower; I'm disgusting."

Daniel nodded, turned around, and walked away. Charlie shut the door behind him.

* * *

Jack stared at his reflection in the mirror. He never thought, even with all he had seen and experienced over the years, that this would ever be happening to him. He never, for once second, thought that Charlie would be back in his life. Quite frankly, he still wasn't entirely convinced that this wasn't some sick dream conjured up by his subconscious.

There was a soft knock on the door and before he knew it Sam's reflection joined his.

"It's almost time to go," she replied.

"Yeah," he said quietly and cleared his throat.

"You're sure you don't want me to go with you?" She offered. He held her gaze in the mirror for a long moment before shaking his head with a sigh.

"Thanks," he said before she could leave him to himself again. She smiled softly, but only nodded. In her eyes had been a clear understanding that he needed to do this alone. Although, truth be told, he would probably be far more comfortable if she did go with him.

With a sigh, he flipped off the light and followed her back into the living room.

"How do I look?" he said, semi-jokingly.

"Good," she replied with a smile. He sat on the couch. "Nervous?"

"A little," he admitted. He debated silently on what to say next, but wound up blurting out, "I don't know if we have anything in common."

She snorted in amusement. "You have more in common than you think." He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to elaborate. She seemed to drift off somewhere as she said, "He says things sometimes that only you, or he, would say. Your mannerisms are similar. He likes dogs."

"Dogs you say," he perked up. She nodded amusedly. At least he could use it as a topic of conversation if all else failed.

* * *

The ride to the restaurant seemed far shorter than what Charlie had timed it to be in his head. He had planned on having a far lengthier trek to figure out what he was going to say when he saw his father. Time had betrayed him. He glanced to his watch. Okay, maybe not.

Before he realized it, Daniel had already parked the car.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he replied, unbuckling. With a heavy breath he opened the car door, pausing only to thank Daniel for driving him.

He watched Daniel drive off and began his trek to the door. When he reached his destination, he merely stood there for several seconds, silently debating whether or not he should just run away now.

* * *

Jack eyed the door from the corner of the restaurant, waiting anxiously for his son to arrive. He was nervous. He never thought he'd be having dinner with him again.

He mentally reprimanded himself for not letting Sam come with him. She would have, at the very least, kept him company during the awkward wait. He let out a sigh and sipped his drink, nearly choking on it when, as if on cue, his son entered the establishment.

He glanced around quickly and checked his watch before saying something to the hostess. She nodded and began to lead him to the table. Jack felt as if his stomach had lodged itself in his throat.

"Thank you," Charlie said and slid into the booth in front of him. The young girl informed them that their server would be with them shortly, winked at Charlie, and bounced back to her duties.

"I think she likes you," Jack said, using it as an opening to start a conversation. However awkward it would be.

"Why wouldn't she like me?" he grinned with cockiness. "I'm hot." He drummed his index fingers on the table and leaned back with confidence.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence when their waiter interrupted them to bring him a refill, to take Charlie's drink order, and relay to them the specials. Jack spoke up, hoping to redeem whatever it was they had actually begun. He mentally grabbed at a random conversational topic that Sam had mentioned. "So, you're twenty-seven."

Charlie shot him a confused look. "Yeah… People age. It comes with time." His response had been drawn out.

"Right."

Realization played across Charlie's features. "I'm sorry," he said, wincing. "I forgot."

"It's fine," Jack replied with a tone equally as uncomfortable as Charlie's apology. Several seconds of awkward silence followed before he tried again with, "So, you still like baseball?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied. "Baseball, basketball, football… I like sports in general."

"Cubs fan?"

"Cardinals."

"Ouch."

Charlie laughed. "I'm kidding. Yes, I'm a Cubs fan." He paused for a moment with a look Jack wasn't sure how to interpret. "Where's your other half?" He asked as the waiter set his drink before him.

It had taken Jack by surprise.

"What?"

"I'm not an idiot, Jack," Charlie said, sipping his beverage. "I know."

"You know," he said with suspicion.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "About you and Sam." Jack only nodded. "So, what's the deal: you married or…?"

"It's complicated."

Charlie snorted. "When_ isn't_ it?"

"You dating anyone?"

"Uh," he replied uncomfortably. "No. I was married, but she died."

"I'm sorry."

Charlie shrugged, showing no emotion. "Shit happens." His tone was a heavy, regretful one. Jack knew there was more to the story, but chose not to take the topic any further.

* * *

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Charlie said, hoping to take the topic off of Rachel. His father nodded his agreement. Charlie picked up the menu and began to look. This night might actually go somewhat well. For that, Charlie wouldn't complain.

As the night wore on, Jack asked questions and Charlie asked questions. It certainly did have its uncomfortable moments, but he found himself pleasantly surprised at relaxed he'd become. Maybe, Mac was right. Maybe, this time could be different.

Of course, he'd never admit it to Mac or, likely, anyone else.

"So," Jack began. There was something in his voice that almost made Charlie take back everything he'd thought about the night. "How did you even find out about the…" he gestured, but Charlie knew what he meant: the Stargate.

"_What, in the hell, are you doing here?" Charlie asked, emphasizing every word._

"_I need to talk to you," his father said flatly. "You can't avoid me forever."_

_Charlie looked around in irritation, grabbed his father by the arm, and pulled him to the side. "I am in the middle of the biggest case of my career and I am _**this**_ close to making the bust," he growled._

"_Five minutes."_

_He let out a breath and looked around again before ordering his team, "No make a move until we get that confession!" He faced his father again and lowered his voice so they could converse. "_**Someone** _is getting arrested tonight. Either it's him or your ass is getting nailed on obstruction of justice." Jack only nodded in response. "Make it fast."_

_Jack opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by his son's partner. "We got 'im."_

_Charlie, without a word, pulled out his gun and ran off to follow his partner._

"Charlie?" Jack asked, ripping him from his reverie.

"Uh," he began, "You were tracking a…" he glanced around, mouthed "Goa'uld," and continued with his story, "somewhere in Washington state. I guess, he got away and set up shop in Albuquerque. You tried for like three or four days to get me alone to ask for my help – you said you wanted someone who knew the area and Daniel thought it would be a good idea to cooperate with the local authorities on it. I was a detective: You thought I could probably help. You finally cornered me when I was making a bust. I guess someone from your team – I always suspected Daniel, but no one ever came clean – decided to talk to the police Chief. I got assigned to what we were calling the Cokehead Cult Leader case; although, it had nothing to do with drugs. After a _lot_ of protest, I was finally ordered to take it. You guys gave me the basic information, but I kept asking questions because your cover story didn't make sense. Finally, I saw the dude's eyes glow and I made you tell me everything. I didn't believe you but, when my wife and I came for Thanksgiving, you guys gave me the tour of the base and I saw it up close." He sipped his drink. "I think the dude's name was Seth or Steve or some crap like that."

"Seth? We caught him in Washington," Jack replied.

"Not in my reality." He let out a breath.

After a moment of silence, Jack asked, "So, you were a detective?"

Charlie was almost positive that Sam had mentioned that to him earlier, but he answered the question anyway.

"Yeah. Narcotics."

"Did you get a dog?"

Taken by surprise, Charlie laughed. "No, I wasn't K-9. I had a desk with a name plate."

* * *

Charlie entered his room and flopped on his bed, stomach first, leaving the door wide open. He was surprised at how well the dinner went. Although, it brought to the surface a lot of things he'd tried to forget. With a sigh, he rolled onto his back. He was emotionally drained and seriously considered taking the next day off, doing nothing.

He shook the thought from his mind. He couldn't take the day off; he needed to figure out how to stop the bad guys. He needed to figure out how they were going to get here. He needed to work.

He rolled off the bed and shut his door. He sat at his desk, hooked up his small, external hard drive and pulled up some of the pictures he kept stored on it. He opened a picture of himself, his father, and his younger brother as they stood around a grill. He and Jack both looked frustrated. They'd been going on a fishing trip. Sam had taken the picture.

_Charlie hated fishing – hated it, loathed it, and abominated it. It was boring and far from relaxing. Not to mention, he didn't want anything to do with this "family trip" to a cabin in the middle of nowhere to fish in a fishless pond. Really? How did that make any sense? _

_Danny, of course, was excited. Like Jack, he loved to fish. His stepmother, he suspected, only pretended to enjoy it. She hadn't drummed up much enthusiasm when Jack presented the idea over dinner one evening, but had agreed to it nonetheless. _

"_Bored?" She asked. _

"_That's one way to put it," he replied, pausing his movie. He inhaled deeply when he caught a whiff of something that was wholly unsavory. "Aw, hell!" He set his computer down. His father was burning dinner. "Seriously?" He demanded. "I'm not eating charcoal."_

"_It's not burnt," Jack insisted. "Just… dark."_

_Charlie peered around his father. "If that's not what you call burnt, I'd hate to eat what you think is!" Jack frowned. "I'm going to town."_

"_No!" Jack protested. "We said we weren't going to leave for the week unless there was an emergency."_

"_This _**is**_ an emergency. We're going to starve if I don't get dinner." He let out a breath. "Tomorrow, _**I'm**_ the one cooking. At least, it'll be edible."_

_They heard the door shut behind them. Sam came out holding a digital camera. "Smile!" she said. _

Danny was the only one who had smiled in the picture. Jack and Charlie had both been irritated and taken by surprise. Charlie scrolled through several more photos, reliving each memory before he shut his MacBook, changed into some shorts, and crawled into bed for the night.

It didn't take long before he drifted into a memory-filled sleep.


End file.
